I’ve been outdone
I don’t have a passion for poetry anymore.
I have nothing left to write about.
I used to write every day,
turning every thought into a line,
every feeling into a page,
but now I sit in front of an empty screen
and I don’t know what to say.
The words that used to come so easily
feel distant now.
Like they belong to someone I used to be.
So I just play my guitar every day.
I feel like I forgot how to play a little.
My fingers hesitate over the strings,
searching for chords I used to know by heart.
I was so focused on poetry all these years
that I forgot all about my guitar.
And now I’m starting to play again.
It’s my favourite thing ever.
There’s something about hearing the strings
that makes me wonder why I ever stopped.
Maybe I spent so long trying to make words sound beautiful
that I forgot music could do it without them.
I think my time with poetry has come to an end.
The only reason I kept writing for so long
was because I thought I was the best.
I thought maybe if I kept writing,
I could prove it.
But clearly, I’ve been outdone.
And when someone writes better than you,
when the thing you once thought made you special
doesn’t feel so special anymore,
you start wondering what the point was.
So maybe there is no point anymore.
Maybe I don’t need to keep filling pages
just because I used to.
Maybe I can let the poems become memories,
let the empty pages stay empty,
and let the guitar take their place.
I spent years giving poetry my hands.
Maybe now
I’ll give them back to the strings.
I’ve been outdone.
I’ll just stick with the guitar.
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