sjsprWriting

I wish I were clever enough to call myself something of a poet, 

or defining and pioneering as a play of Shakespeare.

I've searched for those meaningful moments that are supposed to hold the foundation for where to begin,

(Is it in life experiences I've yet to live?)

where the process of maturing inevitabily happens, so that I could flourish,

(am I just doing everything incorrectly? Is there something I'm not getting?)

then advance straight to the part where

I just am. 

But like a work in progress that goes into hiatus far too many times,

I am only made of words put together by simple frustrations,

which will eventually lead to end with no end, 

and I will continue to look on with envy at those who are where I want to be--

at an end with real meaning.