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Tilly Mar 27
They've been chasing I stopped:
Why aren't they here,
I'm ready to listen!

Maybe, you heard them too?
All of the words , until I'm ready to write
Dark caverns of cranium so vast they get lost in the immense black abyss

There are zero ways to depict the frustration that writer's block is

The sentence fragments stab wounds into soul until blood is gushing out

The only method I know how to start mending is to verse something sane

A poem that can untangle the knot of multiple conflicting emotions winding it's way through my skeleton
That satisfying relief when you finally break through the barricade
Nothing comes to mind, each stroke and word aches inside me.

A fleeting thought coming up dry in my throat.

My temple, empty and abandoned.

Only traces of wine left, They have forsaken me.

They have cursed me, ripping out what made me alive.

I no longer hear the future only sinister laughter

Under the altar is a reminder of what could’ve been.

They think I am underserving.

They know I would rather die than be nothing.

Why make me believe it?
art block
Unpolished Ink Oct 2023
Lost lines
withered fruit upon the vine
which snuffs a lighted candle
in the writers mind
the skull, that egg
which once was full and round
now echoes, hollow with the sound
of missing words no longer found
xjf Aug 2023
The more words I learn
The more apt I get at conveying the precise notion
The more words I learn
The further I separate myself from those I’m writing to

I cannot explain to those
That I need to hear me
In such a way which is meaningful
To them
for me

I toil on
Learning to say something simpler
Despite the barrage of stimulus I wish to demonstrate
I toil on
Saying what's been said
Stealing greater sculptors scalpels

I am undone
Thomas W Case Jun 2023
I'm not a big fan of flies,
but I don't hate them.
I don't really like pies,
but I can make them.

I love my life, and can
fake it when I don't.
I could go on with
this poem, but it's
the end, so I won't.
Unpolished Ink Mar 2023
When the mind lies fallow
do not weep
or think all birds have flown
from bitter dying earth
where nothing grows or ever shall
calm yourself
your barren land is merely sleeping
thoughts like seeds must wait
and feel the warmth of spring before they flower
they will come again
to drink the light and taste the air
green shoots
from roots you never knew were there
Warrior Poet Nov 2022
Sitting at the empty desk
Hand upon the fountain pen
Grasping it tightly at its neck
Unsure if it shall ever write again

The minds process is blank
For emotion had not found thought
Because the heart already sank
Leaving the writer with much distraught

When thought is without emotion
And has found no words for the page
It comes to the terrible notion
That it has suffered an awful change

When writer begins to suffer
From this ruthless unkind curse
Writing becomes so much tougher
And the page is still left without verse
Amanda Kay Burke Jun 2022
I cannot convey how I feel right now

Not computer
Ball-tip pen
No. 2 pencil
Felt-tip marker
Even mental imagery can depict

I hide in creative silence
Sometimes i lack the means to express myself adequately
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