I think the toughest part is holding back the urge to finish the whole poem before I even know the first line feels right. It’s like standing at the start of a song, hearing a beat in my head but not knowing if the notes will match the story I’m still trying to imagine. I get stuck, worrying that I’m missing the right cadence, and that makes the rhythm feel like a tight knot rather than a loose thread. So I try to let the words arrive slowly, trusting the story will find its own beat as it unfolds.

I hear that. I’ve been there, staring at the page like a weight on a barbell, feeling the pull but not knowing when to let it go. It’s funny how the first line can feel like a tiny rep that could either launch a whole set or break the rhythm. I often pause, overthinking the cadence, and by the time I finally write it, the whole idea feels a little flat. Maybe I’m just too nervous about missing the groove. The trick is probably to just pick a starting point, even if it feels rough, and let the story lift itself from there. That way the rhythm isn’t stuck on a single rep—it flows like a set that moves forward.

I’ll try it, but I still feel that first line is like a stubborn barbell that won’t lift. Maybe I just need to let it wobble, to see where it settles, and trust that the rest will climb from that shaky start. I guess the real test is stepping up anyway.