by krstaten

I am an empty
I am a vessel filled
with empty things.

You can try to slip
pieces of yourself
into the bottles
or tuck flowers
into the vases
that haven’t

But I have nothing
to offer except black
droplets clinging to the lips
of empty inkwells.

I actually wrote this a few years ago, and I’ve kind of been feeling it again lately. One of the few older poems of mine that don’t make me cringe. Since I’m kind of in this place again–struggling to find something inside myself that’s worth offering the rest of the world–and since I haven’t been writing much new stuff the last few weeks, I figured it might be worth sharing.