You see, the water does all the things it’s meant to.
It does everything and nothing
It goes everywhere and nowhere.

Its essence is dichotomies and dualities
The shores line its gentle brutality
Infinite and dangerous - an endless finality
Sometimes still – a lifeless vitality.

The wind can push it
The earth can shake it
To understand this paradox is a risk –
Don’t take it.

A stagnant mind will see you drowned.
Producing these lines, but not a sound.
Words to be written but not to be spoken.
These are the words my soul has chosen.

the feeling of art bleeds from my nail beds,
plump from euphoria, drunk off wine that's red.
i feel electricity within my hands.
some have only known it through ***'s command.
my joints swell with anticipation,
the poet's tongue knows no abnegation.
ready to send life through these tired veins.
let emotion take these fraying reins,
and pluck these tendons like piano strings.
hear the way the keyboard clings
with each stanza, each brushstroke.
what suffering could they evoke?
i feel my blood pump through me.
pelted by the rhythmic breathing of the sea.
these feelings crashing into jagged rocks.
breathe in this break from writer's block.

I'm trying to be bubbly
But my mind it keeps mumbling
Then my stomach starts rumbling
I try to ensure you I'm serious
Yet the words fall from my mouth, delirious

The pen marks the page
Only scribbles remain
Unsure what to do
So I sit in disdain
Need to erase all the pain
Maybe dance in the rain
....
It all conflicts in my brain!

Why can't I write?
Is it in spite?
Was poetry a mere mechanism to cope,
Is there no hope?

Maybe I'm full of it
Nearly at the end of my rope,
How can words express
When I'm not a mess
Outside of the nothingness,
What even is happiness
Still learning, still yearning
Excited for what's next
Maybe that's all it is.

Without my abuse
Who am I now
When drugs were my muse

Was I ever talented
Or just creative in addiction
I traded my emotions
For an anti depressant prescription

I want to be heard
I want my words to mean something more
than scribbles on a page
Or a hobby when I’m bored

There’s a message in my madness
If only I could see it myself
I’m in a tea cup spinning
Tossing fake news in a wishing well

I can feel them.
Banging! On the big steel wall.
Their sounds are muffled never quite taking shape.

I press my ear right up close
to see if I can    just.        get.         one.
One little breakthrough and I know it will break the dam.

My frustration is building,
because I have these ideas,
but that means nothing,
when I can’t get them down.

Words don’t fit together right.
Or translate the way that I’d like.
There’s this massive block within my mind.
I wish I could just make it say goodbye.

A block in the mind

A wall blocking all creativity

A blockage interfering one's thoughts

A writer of soul and passion

A holder of the pen that creates

A person with a unique way of combining words

A blocked writer...

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