I'm looking at this paper with no idea what to write,
Because all I would like to sound I've already read.
I'm looking at this medium which voices my thoughts,
But I can't seem to write the right words to paint the picture In my head.
I'm living my life the way I think is right,
But all I feel is my emptiness am I just writing to write?

Where did my inspiration go.
I'm looking at this paper with no idea what's gonna be another page.
what possibly can I write that would be heard in this day and age?
Poverty?
economy?
democracy?
society?
illicitly?
Race?
love?
Hate?
Peace?
Despair?
Education?
Fascination?
Condemnation?
Jubi­lation?
All saturated, there is no space for my view.
I'm looking in my mind to find a topic but I can't  fabricate one,
Because all I believe in and hold dear has been written.
I'm looking at this piece of paper with no idea what to write, knowing ambiguity won't give these words meaning.
I'm looking at myself by reading my words.
I'm frustrated at myself for this writers block.
I am trying acknowledge myself by admitting I don't have all the answers.