I can yell at my pen,
pull at my hand,
but there's no words this paper can comprehend.
My thoughts are stuck in a box,
stubbornly clustered together,
not willing to talk.
I try to persuade them,
but they crave my inner creativity,
not the monotonous reality I live in.
They want to dance in the rain,
swim in the ocean,
or even find a mysterious love potion.
But I can't take them there -
I don't know how to piece them together,
It is as if my artistic streak vanished in thin air.