Not a Poet... I Give Up

I took a quill,

Danced between my fingers,

Twirled it around and around.

Then it's tip grazed the papery canvas -

Drew shapes, known and unknown...

Doodling, you'd say.

I sat there,

For hours on end,

Scrambling for words and rhymes.

I couldn't make it, I couldn't break it.

All I could do was cry.

My brain, an aftermath of a cyclone...

My thoughts lost in the squall...

I couldn't feel, I couldn't think,

I realized; I couldn't write anymore...

Choked up, and limp.

Weak, and so lost.

I sat shattered, and overthrown.

I never knew,

A wry smile danced upon my lips,

They understood...

" 'Twas a forfeit"

I stood up, the smile never left.

I tossed away the quill and the paper,

In the farthest known corner,

No doubt, I am sure, I wouldn't need them ever again.

'Cause I know now surely

Very surely

That I am not a poet anymore...

I give up