I spent a few hours with pen and paper last night, scrawling the same basic lines over and over down on the sheets of the moleskine.  I’ve got something to say, and it has something to do with my experience of high school, but it won’t come out.  A few versions of the poem were forced.  A few were free-flowing, but read like prose structured in stanzas.

Very frustrating.  But, at least I was writing.