CALL ME BELOVED

I’m already looking up prompts for poems.
a clearer manifestation of my creative ennui
I cannot fathom. i just can’t shake the feeling
that this should be easy, and as soon as I
mouth the word immediately it rings false.
the very syllables are serpentine and lull you
into believing them: easy, as if anything is –
all of life is a struggle from cradle to grave
and it’s not such a bad thing, isn’t it?
eloquent, really, meaningful in its own way,
a manner I cannot fully describe, and that
is the constant shrug upon my shoulders.
I bear it like a cross and I do not use the metaphor lightly.