Writer's Block-A Poem

By Miriam B. Medina (Copyright)

Am I poet, or am I writer?
I just can't differentiate between the two.
Sometimes I'm good with poetry,
There are articles and short stories I also like to do.

Every so often writer's block visits, my uninvited guest,
Hindering the writing process, that usually flows at its very best.
Self-doubt creeps upon me, self-worth drags me down,
The more I try to write, the larger the paper mound.

The plot gets too twisted, leading characters too grotesque,
My story becomes too dark altogether.
Eventually one thing leads to another, and
There you go, a day's work for the house-keeper beneath my desk.

A habit was forming, watching pages get crumpled and thrown,
Undeniably it's a sad journey in creative writing,
All writers must travel alone.
No matter how much I try, my waste basket keeps getting filled.

Oh woe is me, what a waste of creative time,
I've gone from skilled to feeling unskilled.
Writer's block makes me angry; inspiration doesn't come quick enough,
Words that once flowed easily freeze, making it impossible to strut my new stuff.

I'll try my hand at poetry; maybe I'll be lucky then,
So I can put an end to this writer's block and sweetly say amen.
I've searched and searched for rhyming words,
Fluttering all around inside my head.

My mind keeps getting twisted, unemotionally fed.
Thoughts that keep me from sleep and a comfy bed.
Screaming to be released, requesting to be heard.
All trapped inside like a miserable caged bird.

Some of these words are wise and linger,
They're the sweetness of fruit, why should I hinder?
Others will take me to heights intense,
Everything is possible, yet together do they make sense?

Ugh, poetry in whatever shape or form does not inspire me,
It's written in a way to confuse and ruin my tranquility.
So where do I go? What can I do?
The answers were there, which I very well knew.

Play background music, burn scented candles,
Slip away to a quiet place and walk.
Visit a crowded cafe, sip coffee, and
Hear some interesting gossip talk.

Nothing is wasted, that is for sure,
For writer's block, there is always a cure!
So back to my keyboard once again,
The time I spend there, will not be in vain.