I write to control thoughts that I wanna talk about.
To harness what I couldn’t say out loud.
Its easy for me to write.
About how I’m feeling each and every night.
Words may not come naturally to me.
But sentences just flow and come to me.
I’d write about anything that came to my mind.
Usually past experiences I’d have to rewind.
Everything I do seems to be intense.
So I usually write about things that have suspense.
Love, hatred, tears and pain.
Are the feelings I cant contain.
Plus I get a feeling of release.
When I write about a heartbreaking piece.
I have many notebooks that I write in.
Their like pieces of my heart that I confine in.
I even started writing lyrics to songs.
Ones that I would make up on the spot.
I really love writing and expressing myself.
And I can always go back and remember ones self.
My state of mind.
Or my destructive binds.
My lovers of the past.
Or hopes for a future with love that will last.
But whats more painful then writing about a heartbreak?
Is being able to not even write and think.
Writer’s block, as people would say.
A blank paper would be left every day.
And its not about having nothing to say.
Its about not being able to write it away.
Having too many thoughts coming out.
Not knowing which one to write about.
Feeling 10 different emotions at one time.
Writing down jumbled words that don’t rhyme.
As a writer its the worst time ever.
We hang our heads in shame and in failure.
Its like a ship not being able to sail.
A dead end road with no continuing trail.
A bird that cannot fly.
Watching a lover walk by.
Watching tv with no cable.
Leaning on something thats not stable.
Its so annoying and we get so down on ourselves.
Like we take all the blame for ones self.
Because this is what I love to do.
Is write about facts or fiction or myself too.
And when I cant get words out.
It feels like my world is crashing down.
Like something is missing.
A part of me diminishing.
Maybe its something I once had.
Because words used to flow out on that pad.
I used to be proud of the pieces I made.
And now all I have is myself to blame.
Maybe that something will never come back?
And force my writing dead in its tracks.
I don’t think I could live without writing.
Its an art form of expression that is exciting.
But what is gone may never return.
And this leaves me with deep concern.
So what is one to do?
Find other inspiration so true?
Or sit back and wait for it to find you….