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Lea Anne Mousso May 2014
Sometimes
The words pour out
A beautiful symphony
Letters entwine my skull
Choke me with their simple
Elegance
Some see it as writing
I see it as
A beautiful death
A necessary one.

But other times
The emptiness is what
Overwhelms me
The profound absence
Of ink on paper
The maddening sensation
Of paralysis
Grips me
As my gentle fingers
Shake
Helpless and
Longing.
Julia O'Neary May 2014
I sit down to write a poem,
actually write, not type.
Because pencil against paper is
satisfying. It's warm, not cold,
not like keys on a laptop, or worse
a touch screen, that's not touch.
Because I want to feel,
everything, but I haven't yet.
I sit down to write a poem,
I got nothing.
I don't know what to write,
because my mind is white.
A walk would be in order,
to get thoughts out of disorder.
As I'm trekking through the forest,
I get an idea! A florist
who goes to Vegas
and...encounters writer's block.
I just got writer's block while trying to write a poem and it turned out to be this random, rhyming poem with awesome alliterations in the notes. :)
Lex May 2014
What do you do
When writing becomes a coping mechanism,
But you can't put your feelings into words?

How do you write when there's nothing to write about?
When there are so many things to say,
And so many things to think,
But you just can't put it into words.

Writer's block is like an enemy.
The inability to phrase your emotions,
Or describe the citrus-y, vibrant taste of the orange you're eating.
The inability to write about your day,
Or express your concerns through the beauty of words.

How am I supposed to cope,
When this block is in my way?
How am I supposed to cope,
And get through every day?
Writers block *****.
y i k e s May 2014
just another poem
describing my low mood
with an irreverent metaphor
comparing my low mood to
the drastic change of temperature
in summer and winter
Kas May 2014
The pages on the desk
White, blank and mocking.
The sun in the window
Shines down upon them
Seemingly encouraging
It means well, but my migraine returns

The pen my hand has touched and put back down
Lies beside the pages
My imagination running wild
It all goes with each attempt

I reach for the pen and try once more
All ideas float down into the recesses of my mind,
of which I never had the courage
To venture into.
Styles May 2014
So many ideas, wondering aimlessly, endlessly. The thoughts are flowing; but the words are hidden. The feelings are there, but emotions keep getting in the way. The ideas are chasing each other around in my head, and my brain won't make up its mind. I guess we are all more tired than we are awake. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.
Erin Hankemeier May 2014
I can't form words to match
what my mind feels
Recently, I have not been able to match words to match what my mind feels.. So I guess that is what I am supposed to write about...
Anastasia Webb May 2014
Give me your inspiration.
Come on, you have enough already.
This isn’t fair, I protest;
how is it that you can create
a dozen pretty iced-cupcake poems
a day and I can’t?

Honestly –
sharing is caring.
I don’t want it all,
just a little bit.
A tenth will suffice.
It won’t take much from you,
I swear! you’ll still be writing
ten-point-eight cupcakes
a day.
Now would that be so bad?

No? Well, then.
Be like that.
It’s not like
I need inspiration …
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