My palms were sweating. I leaned forward, staring at my computer screen and blinking owlishly behind my square-rimmed glasses my brother hates. I was staying up way too late, but I had to finish this. My brain froze and I momentarily panicked.
No! No, no, no, no, NO! Don’t do this to me! Anything but brainfreeze!

No one can be a poet just because they want to be. To write poetry, just like all the other arts, you have to be meant to--that is, God has to want you to. No one can write poetry--real poetry, mind, that's true and good and at least halfway deserving of the word "beautiful"--without God putting it in them; without Him speaking into their souls every single word. I know by experience that it is the same way with writing books. Every character, every conversation, every circumstance is inspired by God's voice.

I feel the itch.
An idea grows.
My mind alive,
my writing flows.

My pen is swift,
words chosen with care.
It is a gift
I wish I could share.

My sympathies to those
who’ve never tasted the desire
to set hand to page
and light words on fire.