Learn more about other poetry terms
Oh hello old friend, Long time no see. Are you here to inspire me? You left me locked in an empty cage You didn’t listen to a single plea.
“I should be writing” I tell myself With an empty mind… I should be writing, but I’ve gathered
Aren't these things supposed to flow naturally? Shouldn't I just be able to pour my feelings out into my writing? Write eloquent, tearjerking stories and just get it all out Why can't I?
Writer's block is a painful endeavor. So bad it makes me question my creativity and if a spark of it existed ever. If only there was a magic pill or convenient mushroom sitting around waiting to be consumed.
Dear Kayla, I can’t make you walk on flower trails. I can’t force you to see only the good things. To promise you
Dear Writer's Block, I tried to write a song today, but something got in the way. Was it you? You decided to show up again I thought I told you we're not even friends Yes, what I said was true.
We fought day and night, But he never followed the rules. He knew how to wear me down, But I won this war. He wears different masks But he is one and the same- a distraction.
I can't think of anything... Writers Block. I hate it. A big huge wall were your mind stops thinking and you are staring a little bar on your computer screen. The worst is when you are writing a paper.
When I was eleven, I knew what I was going to do and how I was going to get there. I wrote because the world looked better through my eyes.
Dance and writing are my outlets. The two things that make me the happiest. Two things I don't do nearly enough of. Maybe that's why I feel sad, stuck, Like something's pent-up, caged, Because they are.
I sit and write, and I'm writing now. I listen to my mother howl, I watch my brother sulk and scowl, I hear my cat scamper and prowl. I sit and write, and am writing now. I sit and write, and take a pause.
My brother was forced from home I tried to ask, "why?" The seeds of our love were sown I received no reply
Writers BlockWriters BlockWriters BlockWriters BlockWriters Block N E E D I N S P I R A T I O N . . . . . My brain is melting right now .
Wandering in a wood of shelves and books, Over litter, leaves fallen and gone From branches of minds the winds of time shook, For one page that remains empty as dawn, A sheet virgin white upon which to write
It’s all up to me, no parameters on what I need to say. I blank, ‘oh shit what am I gonna say?!’ So I look at other poems, How they engage a reader, Empower a reader, Inspire a reader, Make you laugh,
Its a sad poem with no title. I did it today. I never wanted it to be like this Was it an accident? Was it life giving me a sign?
A pen that flows Is a pen that knows What it wants And where to go But when it stops It gets stuck Like myself In a rut There are things That I could write But none of my words