Often Obtuse

I don’t get like this often

When it happens, I feel my heart soften

My body shivers with discontent

Not sure of what I am meant

To do, to feel,

to show, to create

to say, or to reveal


I find myself like this again

Many times ending with a migraine

I don’t know what to call this

This profound feeling of abyss

Sighing, because I accept

That I am done trying


Often, I am dismal

Sometimes, genuinely blissful

But only when I find inspiration in you

For usually, you make me happy too


Palms intended to produce

Have ran out of use

For I, the creator

Have hit a block


That has made me feel utterly obtuse.


This poem is about: 


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