My concentration is shot, my ability to focus gone,
I can not even read a book, a magazine article.
In the interior of my brain, there is a conflict,
a decision to be made and it distracts me.
I am unsettled, edgy, anxious.
The pressure will be reduced when school ends,
no subbing for summer,
so more time though less income.
Perhaps the chunk of time to devote to poetry,
to write as often as I am inspired,
to read my poems aloud in different settings,
to process feedback,
to find out if I have what it takes,
to develop my craft, if indeed I am a poet.
It excites and frightens me.