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anonymous Jun 22
i'm feeling uninspired,
yet there must be a way,
to think of some words that i need to say.

i'm feeling uninspired,
the stanzas aren't flowing,
i've lost all thoughts that i had without knowing.

i'm feeling uninspired,
and there's no time to stall,
because if i stop writing, my passion may fall.

i'm feeling uninspired,
maybe it's just stress,
i can't seem to figure out my lack of progress.

i'm feeling uninspired,
i will keep trying to write,
so i sincerely apologise for the lack of height.

i'm feeling uninspired,
i'll be back with quality soon,
but know things are too hard for me to swoon.

- anonymous
I can't seem to figure out how to get past this.
If anyone has any tips to help me get back to writing good-quality poems again,
please give me a shout.
escapes her
in paint splatters
and through water color tears

she strings poetry in her hair
praying for the wind to
take hold of her cursive words
to set flight to her hopes and dreams

yet the outline of who she use to be
into the murky background
that threatens to swallow her whole
and as she stares straight into your soul

all you can do
is watch her

fade away

Lost Sep 2019
Under the blankets
Never shaking them off
In the depths of my mattress
Needing more than this
Stuck in my bed
Perpetually in a fog
Interested in nothing in particular
Remembering that there’s no point in trying
Every day when eventually I’ll just be
The name of these type of poems is totally escaping me right now, but the first letter of each line spells out “uninspired” when you put them together. Not really a good poem honestly, but it’s all I can offer right now. I feel so drained of creativity.
annh Jul 2019
You build your nest of pretty words,
Sly threads of verbiage,
Plucked from outworn phrases,
Secondhand sentiments and frayed metaphors.

A thorny simile, a faded pink ribbon,
Of rhetoric woven with silky streamers;
A warp and weft of fond and found,
Borrowed references and stolen verses.

You recycle the shining heart,
Of another’s penmanship,
Modelling it into a tarnished,
Uninspired and untitled composition

‘I get a lot of big ideas, and occasionally I actually come up with one myself.’
- Bauvard, Some Inspiration for the Overenthusiastic
Cotton Candy Jun 2019
the fire burns bright,
clouding my mind
with the smoke
of an angry heart.

she tries
with all her might
to put the blaze out —

will she succeed?
i am so frustrated right now.
Cotton Candy Jun 2019
don't expect me to do for you
what you don't do for yourself
don't mistake your right to be wrong
for my respect

the worlds collided, merged
what you attack rules over you
the song i've known for years
makes sense now but
i still won't play it out loud
but i'd watch you dance anyway

i will tell you what i have been dreaming about
since i chose to be useful
those are my real hopes
and dreams
that i want out, once and for all
but that would never be allowed
i am, we are, exhausted, anyway

your anger is justified by everything you lack
there is no point in teaching
you need to be left to learn

here is my last line
everything this masochistic mayhem is about
it's fine to be alright
it's still normal to feel okay
it has been always normal
for you to be okay
it is okay to show vulnerability
you are human after all
but always remember to defend your keep
steady now and don't lose your footing
this will be my mantra
Shrini Apr 2019
Thinking is not doing,
Doing is doing,
And lately,
I have been thinking a lot,
And it gets in the way of doing,
Whenever I make myself do,
All I am missing is the rest,
And to stop, look, rest and think...
A Apr 2019
Being told to tame this beautiful chaos of mine
is like being told not to feel
while walking through fire.
They tell me not to feel.
It's wrong.
So lately i've been uninspired.
I cannot think long enough to write down my thoughts.
Don't think.
It complicates things.
Just feel, and
if it feels like home
then follow its path.
And that's the thing.
She was always willing to burn for everything she has ever loved.
It's what we know as love.
Arduino Apr 2019
This dull pencil has filled me with lead and weighed down my soul

This canvas is blank
Save for the bruised marks of an angry quill

I shake as hard as I can
But the pen has fallen to the might of frustration

I am but a broken type writer
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