Dusting of the Heart

Freeverse Poetry

Hello everyone. Writing this free verse assignment has been pretty tough for me, been having one of the worst cases of writer's block in awhile, which is usually pretty rare. Maybe that's why it's been so bad, since it hits harder that way, or so they say. Don't ask me who “they” is. But yeah, writing this thing has been tough, I've scrapped like 3 ideas, messed around with some others, and ultimately have started from scratch a few times now. They just weren't going anywhere really, either from being too cliché, or being too similar to my other stuff, to sounding too much like a standard written paper, which isn't the point of poetry. The process has been messy. It reminds me a lot of baking, which almost feels preferred right now.

Dough is funny that way,

how it starts out this sticky horrible mess that makes you want to go damage control mode since you definitely need more flour and the recipe is all wrong and what if your yeast is out of date and

then it all just turns smooth. 

A perfectly round wish you'd bet your life on.

It brings about childhood,

tastes and smells of grandparents lost,

The cold cobble tiles like ice, 

bringing  different kinds of warmth.

Dough begs for hard work,

needing patience and care for shape and form.

The short but simple promise of completion.

Things don’t always rise on time,

and sometimes you wish you never started

at all 

.

.

.

And just like baking, I sometimes wish writing was easier.

I wish it wasn’t as messy.

I wish it was more consistent.

I wish it would come naturally.

But it isn’t any of those things

and I’m glad about that.

You see, there’s this pride that comes with taking something very small

bits and pieces

turning them into something greater

If anyone could do it with little effort

and there weren’t any ups and downs, 

this entire process wouldn’t feel special. There would be

no point at

all.

and just like writing, I bake to beat the pointlessness.

I bake for my razors. 

Still used for scoring

but find new, improved purpose.

Landscapes for beauty and for function.

I bake for my heart,

which remains covered in dust.

Joined now by beautiful, white flour.

I bake for my writer’s block.

Keep my mind at ease, while my hands do overtime.

My work might be incomplete, 

but at least now there’s warm bread.