when i write you in

you are my unfinished poem
the words that i want to write
but can't seem to mold my lips around
the message that is left with a fragmented sentence
more commonly known as an incomplete thought
you are the misspelled word
the troublesome word that i've heard, o i've heard a thousand times but can't quite get my nimble fingers to relate it to the page
you are like the pen with no ink
the pencil with no lead
the inspiration with no release
you are the perfect utensil with no means of practical use
you are the ball of crumpled paper on the floor
the once good idea that went no where
that didn't quite make it to the trash can
could be picked up and reexamined
could be recycled
could be left there as a sign of what was
of what could be again but better
you are my unfinished poem
staring me in the