Do Nothing Know It All

I never use to care
about the production
of disjointed thought
that flowed so easily
from my previously
clogged brain pores

The unsuspecting page
was simply there
to be filled
at this author's discretion
with zero regard
for form or substance

Though secretly envious was I
of talented writers displayed
on social media walls
who crafted language
with such soaring grace

Eventually I clumsily 
stumbled in and found my place
like a cave man amongst
cloud dwelling artists

Using blunt force technique
I found my voice
in a format formally
foreign to me 

Picking it up as I went 

Perhaps I learned too well

Cause today I suffer 
from the dreaded
analysis paralysis

Parsing words
in a sticky web 
of literary self critical

Unable to finish lines

Incomplete thoughts
litter my keyboard

The creative flow now dammed 
by boulders of process
and these damn standards
I formerly never had