The Cursor

The blank page stares at me
expectant
waiting.
The cursor blinking
asking
what comes next?

And I have no answers.
Things are bubbling
stewing
but are not ready to be introduced.

I feel pressure to produce something
wonderful
exciting
poignant.
But the curser still blinks at me
disappointed
discouraged.

I understand because I feel the same.
Anxious
distressed
pining for brilliance.
Unable to take my thoughts and express them.
Unable to form a conclusion.
Unable to transfer anything,
filling the blank page.

So I sit, staring at that cursor
willing it to move
to speak.
But all it does is sit there
coyly winking at me.

February 17, 2019