Sometimes I find myself trying to force out a poem
squeezing metaphors and similes out
like my words are toothpaste at the bottom of the tube.
The words come fleetingly so I grab and paste them together;
parts of a nonsensical collage.
An attempt to find meaning
out of the nouns and verbs that tumble out of my memories,
landing on the floor in a pile of rubbish,
or as toothpaste on my toothbrush.
But if I take a step back,
notice the rusty drain in my sink,
the dark brown hair that curls on the counter,
the paint chip off my light blue mirror frame,
I realize that I already brushed my teeth this morning.