Nothing makes you stare at a the wall quite like writing a mandatory poem. Nothing makes you notice the sirens outside your apartment. The footsteps of the neighbors. The breathing of the self.

I have thought through the poem process thoroughly.
I have engineered my every variable to be as conducive to “Poemy-ness” as possible.
Which means:

•  I am dressed down–a comfortable T-shirt, Jeans, and Jeremy’s jacket, but not PJ’s because that is not formal enough for poetry, or at least, devotional lyric.
• I found a suitable notebook after trying several different ones. This notebook was formerly poem-less, so it has no poems to compare to. Though I can’t say this notebook has been exceptionally inspiring in the past, so I am open to reconsidering my notebook choice. This is probably the most important variable. A notebook is supposed to speak. 
• I am using a pencil. Because who can write poetry in pen. For Heaven’s sake, it needs to be dirty. 
• I debated, heavily, the proximity of my computer to self. It was on my bed. Now it’s at my lap. After I (hopefully) garner some writer fingers from this blog post, it will return to my bed. And I will return with my knees huddled to my chest, pencil in hand, non-inspiring notebook in tow, and I will continue not writing my poem.
• Fact: Writing poems on the computer is like… murdering a poem (For Me). You can’t feel the page. A screen puts distance between you and the words. You can’t even touch the letters.)
• I am not reading the requirements of my assignment until after the first draft of the poem is written. But my backpack is close in case I change my mind. 
• I decided I needed my blankee. Because writing a poem can be brutal, and my own personal poetry usually hurts my feelings. Blankees are good for that.