I sit here.

Viewing a blank slate.

The black blinking line mocks me.

I've been here for hours.

Where are the thoughts?

The words?

Where are the rhymes to save the world?

The language to disintegrate the pillars of inequality?

The stanzas to make me rich so I can quit my day job?

I should be making as much as an engineer.

They don't contribute as much to society as I do.

I rhyme, I'm a sentence builderd.

I build societal commentary with words.

Me me, I'm a word boy.

Do you have any idea how much student loan debt I'm drowning in?

It's low tide in my mind's sea.

All I can imagine --

and picture

-- is myself placing a toothpick under my big toenail and kicking the wall in front of me as hard as I can.

Or maybe I can use a flat-head screwdriver to pry off the nail from the bed.

I could use a tack hammer to tap and slide that under.

A serrated sickle perhaps?

Move it maybe.

Liberate it from being on a toe.

It wants to be on a thumb;

a much better class of nail.

Toenails of the world unite; you have nothing to lose but your jam job!