Line On A Blank Page

A line on a blank page:
now is the time to recover. 

Whose fault it is
that you never became
the artist you thought you’d be

is unimportant. Unless
it’s your fault. After all, you took

the meds that kicked you over
like a traffic cone and now
conventional wisdom says

you’re too okay to make art.
Then you took the courses and now

you make enough money to live
paycheck to paycheck. School
got you here and art stayed behind. 

You lie nightly next to your partner,
screw enough to fall asleep, share life

and love and ease enough
to make the art seem dimmer
every time. You did it all.

Here you sit before sunrise
with one line on a blank page 

in front of you. The house is quiet
but for the grinding of teeth.
Now is the time to recover.