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M Feb 2015
I want nobody to ever have to see me again and I want to never have to see anyone again
I want to sing in the woods and sleep by the fire and shower in the rain and dance to a nonexistent tune
I want to be sometimes alone but never to be lonely I want to be content but never ecstatic and never broken down never concerned
I want to be with so many people all that I love, but none of them broken as they are. They're there just for me to love and have.
I want a blanket and tea and shelter from demons that live in my heart.
skyblueandblack Feb 2015
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I sit to write what is to be my first novel,
and the cursor blinks at me.

I stare at the white screen as it glares back,
daring me to perform,
daring me to begin,
One strike against a key
one letter
one word..
a sentence perhaps,..
... a paragraph
or two...

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moments later
the cursor persists

determined
from deep within the white canvas screen..
Taunting me

Which of us is truly empty, it  implies..
You or I?
http://skyblueandblack.com/2015/02/19/empty/
Dhaye Margaux Feb 2015
When it rains,  it pours*, I know
But now I have this drought again
Where are my words,  where is my muse?
I thought it will forever rain

I know I need an inspiration
I think I badly need you here
My muse,  please be with me again
And fix this block with your love,  my dear.
Missing my muse...
Iris Nyx Feb 2015
The words are there
The zeal is building
The hunger is crawling to
Starvation

But when my hands fall to the squares
That will compose my work
My mind falls completely
Empty

I need invigoration
From those who I love
But never will I inquire
Never will i pester for the help

But Oh! How the demand grows
And how the hours fly without
Me being one word
One thought

Closer to
The dreams I held when
I
Could smile sincerity

Oh How Badly
Oh How Severely
Oh How Passionately
I want
The key to words,
when written down,
is to view them
like a Lost and Found.
For, when faced with creativity,
one can be lost in eternity,
and the endless options
that thoughts present-
all the struggles
in the time that's spent.
One could hear a phrase-
uttered on a whim-
but for a creative mind,
it makes a cup flowing to the brim.
Ideas and conjurations
spring forward with ease,
like delicate whisperings
on a warm summer's breeze.
Bursting with inspiration,
so suddenly found,
makes each step a blessing
as it touches the ground.
Then how is it,
that once imparted,
it is so easy
to find those dear words departed?
A moments distraction,
and then they are helplessly gone;
as you frown and despair
over a writing gone wrong.
You scavenge the void
and the dark recesses
of a previous list
of brilliant successes,
only to find that,
though measurable indeed,
the words on that list
are not what you need.
So treasure wisely
your words today-
for a borrowed word
is tomorrow's play.
axr Jan 2015
I pick up a pen
to let my emotions flow
The ink has dried
The paper remains empty.

I cry.
i don't even know how to handle this writer's block.
Paul Butters Jan 2015
Authors moan of Writer’s Block:
They can’t unpick their inner lock.
A black expanse is all they see
Their rhymes are but a tragedy.

“The Block” is writers’ constipation,
A failure of imagination.
What laxative is there for this?
You feel like you’ve been sent to Dis.

Oh where did those ideas go?
That blank page fills them full of woe.
Play with words is what I say,
Then soon a poem is on its way.

Don’t try so hard is my advice:
Perfection can be such a vice.
Watch telly, films, anything you like,
And let your mind just take a hike.

Listen to music by all means,
Like you used to in your teens.
Watch the news, or take a stroll,
Drag yourself out of that hole.

Take a nap whenever you like,
Sleep will get you ready to strike.
Toy with words again I say:
Best inspiration springs from play.

Paul Butters
Inspired by something I saw here today by Wolf Spirit.
NameDoesntMatter Jan 2015
My writers block is so bad
that this has eleven words
Aerial McAdams Jan 2015
I want to write about hands;
How they grip my throat
And squeeze my lungs
Whenever we make love.

I want to write about burning;
On my body, in my stomach,
Everywhere you touch;
And how it feels wrong.

I want to write about control;
How I feel I have none,
Especially when we become one,
And you’re doing everything I say I love.

I want to write about death;
The death of my innocence,
Of my childhood,
Of my spirit.

I want to write about molestation;
How the word screams at me from inside,
Pours out of my veins,
Makes me choke on my words when I’m around you.

I want to write about coping,
Because that’s all I know how to do.
I learn to love my submission,
Your hands, the burn, my death.

I want to write;
For it’s all I have left.
Something I control,
And something that makes me feel alive.
Lady Bird Jan 2015
I sometimes get hit with writers block
sometimes I can’t please myself with
my own unique creations
I'm my own toughest critic which has led me
to stop writing on several occasions
when the path has been cleared
I'm unable to stop the flow of my creative
thirst; a mouth quenching desire to write
if you were to hand me a glass of words
I'll write all night
Inspired by "BeAutiFul ConFuSion" --- http://hellopoetry.com/BeAutiFulConFuSion/
I left this as a comment to their poem "Writers block'--- http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1029293/writers-block/
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