My Writers Block

As I sit here with an empty tablet and a pallet that has yet to be satiated,

I, feverishly tap my pen against the desk, in hopes of blemishing this tablet with my thoughts

However I am stuck..A constant and consistent case of writers block

One says that a poem is never finished but abandoned,

However if one has poetic thoughts and has yet to place them on a sheet…the poem is then neglected and dampened awaiting the warmth of a poets eyes to ease the words onto it

Whereas a vision can be used as a conduit of ones thoughts, but if ones thoughts are dangerously intertwined it makes poetic creativity destitute.

So I wonder in dispute as to how to approach the beginning of this piece

But so much is on my mind I stop and retreat in defeat because my vision and my thoughts do not cross the same intersection so that they can meet,  creating this fork in the road of my cerebellum that is begging me to go left, but I am so lost I don’t have a sense of which way that is.

So I stop…and I

Think about the reasons that I write…

I think about what makes my pieces, although seen as the same as thousands of people, remarkably unique..

I think about the beginning of my journey of being able to speak by use of a single, yet powerful part of a persons being that if used the wrong way can cause harm…the mind

And…as those thoughts being to formulate, my hand begins to hastily write in accordance to the thoughts that I have..

And at that very moment, the fork in the road converges into one

And the writers block that has been strategically placed thus causing the road to be closed for repairs is now “under construction”

As this road has now become a single entity of my thoughts, visions and desires

I look down at my pallet and it is now saturated with the blood that flows from my pen, 

thus providing a literary IV giving the sheet a voice, 

making it as vibrant as a figurative vagabond that has found life and

presenting a mentally assembled case of literal remedies that essentially can give whoever’s eyes fall upon it the utter feeling of pleasantry or jealousy, depending on the intensity and complexity of their mental dexterity

And the melodic chemistry of words, fragments and sentences flow together as one as an indicator of my integrity as I continue along this path unregrettably while planting seeds of my utter being ever readily, in hopes that they grow into trees of my inner identity

As I realize that my writing, and my work isn’t created as a  dependency of things that I think that people allegedly wish to see but in all actually I do this…to create and strengthen my legacy