Do you know any good doctors?
My pen needs a laxative

what happened?
Where did it go?
I had a gift to write things I didn't totally loathe.
I could write about being dead or sad and it didn't totally blow..
Or I would record my ideas,
and people wouldn't laugh like hyenas.

I don't know what to do;
I can't just get super ****** and pretend I'm Poe.
I just can't write anymore, I don't know..
Please help me end this time of pain;
please help me write something that isn't lame.

Oh Great Haiku in the sky
Send sweet releaf from tears you cry
Our minds are barren
Our papers dry
Flood our seeds of poetry
A harvest soon approaching
A festival of frowns & smiles
All are welcome, Men, Women, Child
From there to now and then
We feast upon the blessed poem.

You never used to inspire me to write.
When I met you, I wished so badly that my writer's block would disappear and I could compose a poem of all the feelings I had for you.
But you know what they say,
Be careful what you wish for.
Because now I can't stop.

Now, the thought of you is so inspiring that all I want to do is write and write and write and write and write and write and write.
Your gorgeous tan skin and bright blue-green eyes force my fingers on the keys to keep going, until my nails are broken and my fingertips are raw.

You never used to make me feel creative.
What happened?

I fell in love.
I dove into the lake of love, heart first,
not realizing that I would never escape it.
I didn't want to escape the canal boat floating down the river of devotion so smoothly.

I should've gotten out when I could.

Little did I know that a shark lingered in that river.
A Great White Shark, ready to lunge at my exposed heart, that rested on my sleeve.
Although what I realize now is,
Sharks only live in the ocean.
The stinging pain in my chest isn't an aquatic beast.
It's love itself,
Trying to rip my heart from my chest and tear it to pieces, before my very eyes.

Love.
The destructive force that tricked me into falling for its lies.
Its promises of joy and happiness,
devotion and fondness.
The infatuation and lust that love guaranteed was all a ploy.
A ploy to catch me in its web, waiting for the spider itself to eat me alive.

You never used to inspire me to write.
But now you're my muse.
I wish I was smarter than this.
I wish I didn't fall in love with your kind heart and your gentle soul.
But remember, be careful what you wish for.
Because maybe, if I hadn't wished in the first place,
My heart wouldn't be so heavy,
And my hands wouldn't be numb from writing endless insignificant love letters to you.

These are the thoughts of...
No
This is the only idea that...
******.
A wall of thought to an ocean of...
Seriously?
The writer's block is...
Oh come on
A good idea is not...
sigh
I won't give up until..
Never mind...

Here I am again, just this paper and a pen.
So many thoughts to write out but everything goes blank once again..... Writers block, is every poets friend, ask them...

The End.

Sweet knight.
Sweet, silent knight.
I see you when you don't look at me.
You have tired eyes in a castle,
and though you call it salvation,
that blue light wont protect them.
And those hands gloved in mail-
they are not only meant
to grip cold connection.
You may have forgotten
amongst the digital clutter
but your sword is pen.
Quit confusing it with distraction.
Drop your devices and mechanisms
that you use for isolation.
Hold this plea as your new prayer,
even if it's only a whisper.
Make something.
I don't expect greatness,
but when you dress your wounds
in hesitation and use your insecurities
as your armor-
all I can ask is that you make something.
Harness your fear as your steed-
and ride it with ink as you need.
Please just make something.
There are hours in the day spent on
words never said because
those tired eyes are at a stand-still
on a sheet of electronic nonsense,
and you tremble with your shield
of self-doubt.
A block's only a battle,
Don't lose the war to online addiction,
cell phone conversations in meaningless text,
there's more left in your creative conviction.
I see it when you don't look.
Sweet knight,
you are the one in my mind
that is there to save me with your speech
I beseech you,
*Make something.

The fireflies
Buzz all around you,
Scattered drops of sunlight
Celebrating the darkness
Maybe we should try it too
Because if we wait for a happy moment to celebrate
We might just have to wait forever.


The autumn trees
Dance all around you
Moving their bare branches
On the beat of the silent wind
You never planted their seeds
Yet they shed their leaves
Watching you shed those precious tears.


Never say, oh, never think
You are alone in your struggle.
Think of all the eternities the sky has bled
For the earth it has never touched.
Yeah, think about the longings with which the ocean and the moon look at each other
And yet can never meet.

So, if you dream of skylines you have never seen,
Wake up with your dreams sitting on your eyelids
And if your heart is at a place far away,
Just know maybe it is supposed to be that way.

The earth when too close to sun,
Will become a ball of ashes,
The moon will have the tides turn
Into merciless savages.
Your heart, with you in his arms,
Will finally be at rest

And if it was not for this sadness, what would I still be writing about?

I will not write any poetry tonight
somewhat colder is the night
the cedars sleep
the cat is right
to curl up in dreams
so I will not write any poetry tonight
besides, how many can you write
(unless I want this graphomania,
that some say is our life)
the cedars sleep
the cat is right -
I will not write any poetry tonight
but watch time creep
until the dawn