Villanelle of Frustration

I am sitting on frustration
and frustration is sitting on me.
Like every day, I'm lacking in concentration.

This is a poem written in agitation
because I cannot write poetry.
I am marinating in frustration.

I hope the great poets experienced this situation
and shared in my agony.
I am afraid I'm the only one lacking in concentration.

I don't know what happened to my imagination;
it walked away from me.
There was not room for it to sit with me and my frustration.

There is not one answer to my solicitation
of what this poem should be.
I am sitting on frustration.

This was supposed to be a writer's vacation
which I thought applied to me.
I can't help but sit in frustration
after these weeks of helpless concentration.

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