White Blank Page

The words flow
Forth,
Pencil seeming
To move on
Its own accord,
No direction from me.

The words
Fit together
In harmony.
Few adjustments
Necessary.

Line after
Line springing
Out.

But not this time.

Now all I
Can do is
Stare at this
Blank page.

The blue lines
Mocking me,
Saying,
“You're not gonna
put anything on us,
you're too stupid.”

I'm drawing a
Blank,
Trying to figure out
Where the words come from, and how
To get to that place.

It's not just one
Blank page,
It's million.
Page after page after
Page.
It makes me crazy.
I can't fill enough of them
With my words, poems, stories,
Doodles, scribbles, names.
Just more take their place.

Why can I only
Stare at this
White blank page?