Sometimes I wonder if it's just from a lack of life experience. Easy for me to say though, since I'm not a poet, and I write nursery rhymes. A closed mind causes individual thought to bounce off of cranium walls, and when these confused thoughts do leave the body, they literally bounce around your living quarters and infect those that you love. So, if you blame writer's block on anything but yourself, you are just projecting more "confused" energy.

I picture a person just sitting there with a pen or phone, angry at the world that they are scared of. Maybe I am wrong, but it truly is related to laziness. These same people sometimes use that anger to inform others of how stupid they are. Never stopping to look at themselves.

I can't help but think that it's the ones who study, research, and live life more that get famous. These people with writer's block self publish, and yes, possibly end up with a book in the library...you know, the books that never get borrowed and look brand new, even when they're old.

You do know what a library is right? Well, grow some passion, and do some research. Walk a path that you normally wouldn't walk. After all, hasn't it all been said about poetry, poets, butterflies, writer's block?

I can't help but to think that some of these same people are like the haters that tried to run me off for years. Guilty conscious? Nope, guilty sub-conscious.

Don't worry, I have enough written to post 5 poems a day for 10 years. Maybe I will get a chance to post those someday. As for now, my mind is continually evolving, and searching...and finding. I just sit down and the *******(poetry) pours out of me. This is not poetry...true

My mind whirls in never-ending revolutions
Searching for something to put into a physical form
But to no avail.
A deep maelstrom, ******* in, but never putting out.
Seeking to manifest, yet without means or material to do so.
I wonder stuck aloft inside my own brain.
How.
How do I do this, I think, brooding over my own thoughts.
Sentence after sentence and nothing appears.
A terrible curse entrenched in my head
And benumbing my very process of thought.
The Energy of a supernova spewing out an inordinate amount.
I need to transform it,
Put it into production,
Set it to work so I don't perish along
With my own shortcomings and flaws.
Still, no matter how hard I stress my mind, I’m left with nothing.
A veritable nothing.
What am I to do
What do I do-

I feel flat. Dull.
My words come out chonky, generic, and lull.

Am I stuck in a block that doesn’t exist?
Non-existent limitations
Stifle my wrists

Maybe I just need to get going
To go anywhere at all
To work through the junk
That has my mind feeling
Like it’s stalled

Waiting for the next best thing
That I already have
To harness
And take that leap
Without the fear of a fall

Because all I can do is go up from here
Vibrate
Loud and tall.

Tried to rest my poet brain
Laid on a pillow, and let it drain
Drain it did, oozed out my ears
ran down my legs and disappeared
Now my head is filled with air
Not a single original thought dwells there
I have not one vivid revelation to share
And quite frankly, I don't care

This is it
I feel the vibe
This poem's going to stay alive

I got it now
I feel the flow
This poem's going to learn to grow

It's all okay
I feel revived
This poem's going to learn to thrive

It's too late now
I feel it slow
Back to hidden it will go...

I can't write a word
Or even pickup a pen
I wish I had hands

Retreading the same creative subjects
Rebedding headaches
                                  Pedalo
Some discomfort
Clung all over
          with a fungal dampness
          And moored with a heavy sleep-like coat
Worthy of nothing
Nothing worthy of note
Pages

Consumed by rehearse
I've lost the thirst to broadcast
Cowardly in delay
Relaying what's past
..... a Recurrent distress

I stand sudden :
Done !
I derail the trolley-lot ...

Then I fit
In a mirthquake
         I laugh like i am made of bellies
'The Bellycake', I'll call me.

With my serious anchorous state nulled
I approach fresh work with good humour