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When the Words Are Still Waiting

Today, I feel like writer’s block is creeping in.

The strange thing is, I have so much to say.

There are thoughts sitting at the edge of my mind, poems somewhere between my chest and my fingertips, stories that haven’t quite found their way onto the page. I can feel them there. I know there is something inside me waiting to be expressed.

But lately, the words aren’t coming the way they used to.

Maybe that’s what makes writer’s block so frustrating. It’s not always the absence of something to say. Sometimes, it’s having too much to say and not knowing where to begin.

I’ve been watching other talented poets perform, and I feel something in me ache.

I miss it.

I miss the stage. I miss hearing poetry spoken instead of simply reading it from a page. I miss the energy of a room listening. I miss that feeling of taking something deeply personal and allowing it to live outside of me for a moment.

I cherish that part of myself.

And yet, for some reason, I don’t feel ready right now.

I’m learning that not feeling ready doesn’t necessarily mean I’m falling behind. Maybe it means I’m still becoming. Maybe the poet in me needs a little quiet before she steps back into the light.

There was a time when I thought I had to force myself to create—to write something because I called myself a writer.

Now I’m beginning to wonder if I can give myself permission to wait.

To listen.

To live.

To gather the words before asking them to become a poem.

Perhaps this isn’t writer’s block at all.

Perhaps I’m simply in the quiet space before the next outpouring.

And if that’s where I am, I’ll let myself be there.

The words aren’t gone.

They’re still mine.

They’re just waiting.