A poem I wanted to share but it's not mine: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/178169
It's called The Education of a Poet. Written by Leslie Monsour, ©2000.
I don't know where I originally found this poem, it's printed out on an old sheet of paper with half an essay by Ted Kooser. It was probably from an English course so long ago.
Sadly, I can relate to the piece all too well. So many days I wake up eager to create... something, anything! But I sit down to my tools, and lose all motivation. Sometimes for no reason at all. Then I start questioning the point of what I do. Why do I do it? Does anyone care? Am I even doing it for the right reasons? What are the right reasons? Does any of it even matter?
Then, instead of being productive and creative, I surf the web admiring the art of others. Clearly, I think too much.