Missing Poet

I can't feel my pen
I can't feel the paper
The things that once,
every atom of my being knew
seems like a foreigner walking on a new street. 

My hands felt numb as I search for words
Something I've done with ease before
And now as I go back to where it all started
I can't seem to weave the words I need
The words I want
And the verses are left open
Rhymes waiting to be filled
As I sit in the corner of my room
Wondering where the poet in me went

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