why writing poetry (right now) is so intimidating

 we are modernists. the first of us were gertrude stein and

 william carlos williams, the writers who took the rules 

of the romantics and shoved it in a blender. each form,

each theme each cliche turned upside down, torn apart,

stitched back together, ignored completely. stein and 

wiliams were born in the nineteenth, though: writing since 

before the radium girls. they were modernists. we are 

modernists. over a century of modernism and each rule

each form, each theme, each cliche, have been examined

and dissected like sick lab rats. when all the food is gone,

what are we supposed to eat? should we try to revive the

old food, or should we sow new seeds? how can a poem

be unique if what makes it unique isnt unique? and yes,

uniquity is a sin, but where can creativity spark instead?

go back to the rules, follow them beat by beat? its just

as derivative, so how is one supposed to write a poem.