A poem which I cannot write

I consider myself a “prose” person,

Stories always came easily to me

complex characters, plot lines,

but every time I tried to write a poem

Indulge in poetry, a very high art

I scrap it

I scrap any poem

Be it a long poem

A short poem

A wide poem or a thin poem

My trash can doesn’t discriminate against

Poems of any kind

And so I sit bored out of my mind

My computer preoccupied with a file transfer

And I realize that while I say I can’t write poems

Have I really, and I mean really,

Tried hard enough to actually try?

I say my trash can eats my poems but I never write poems to begin with

I’m scared of writing poems because I believe my poems are scrap

Why must my irrational fear of poetry control my thoughts and emotions?

Why can’t I even try hard enough, and I mean really,

To actually try?

And so I try.

This is my attempt.

In my blind of fear I cannot say it’s good,

But maybe future me can,

Or maybe he’ll laugh and call me crazy,

Like I always do