Writer's Block

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: September 25, 2018

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Submitted: September 25, 2018



I have writer’s block. A lot. I can go nights thinking about what to write about. To months wondering why my razor is hiding in my wallet.

A hurricane of unfinished arguments and unsaid compliments Spiral out of control in the room I called my safe haven.

I am trying to forget what I did to my canvas I call skin. But, to look at my arms and see scars. Reminds me of the nights I said “Hello” to my inner demon.

I want to remember what it felt like to have the warm sun kiss my lips. All I remember is hiding in the shadows because the sun rays were too lively, It distressed me, I will never feel that happy.

My journals are contaminated with frightful thoughts, I can’t say out loud. My sketchbooks are scribbled with details of teardrops and blood. I have more scars than I do cheerful memories.

I’m covered in war stories and battle cries. Covered in sweat from nights I tried to run away from my problems.

They caught up to me.

My room is deserted and the air is dense, I’m suffocating.

My head is a 200 pound cinder block. Held by a body of brittle bones. Ready to collapse at any moment.

I need to write but, I sit here with a blank page and the more I look into it. I begin to feel like it - empty.

I have no motivation to run my thoughts and ideas onto a sheet of paper. Because where will it go?

Where will it go...

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