4/16/24 – 10:33 PM
Sitting alone in my bed
sporting boxers and a t-shirt
I come to collect my mind in the
familiar form of written word.
I feel the weight of writer's block
pressing down on my tired mind
and I want to kick it to the curb.
Why should it be hard to find
the right words to write?
My words seldom fail me so.
Each syllable is pressed and forced,
jamming a cube into a circle hole.
Is this what's become of my writing?
Once a source of creative release,
now a barren wasteland for thought.
I suppose that's better than a garbage can.
LIKE AND FOLLOW THIS BLOG
Join 825 other subscribers
Discover more from Conspire to Inspire!
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.