Well, here I am again,
Staring at a blank screen with an empty document open,
Racking my brain for anything worth writing.
“Poetry, poetry. Come on, think poetry!”
But nothing...
I strain my brain for something to put down,
And yet the most interesting thing that comes to mind is how particularly bad my shoes smelled after school today.
I try to think of something cool, something mysterious to write about,
But the biggest mystery I can think of is something from Scooby-Doo.
On a good day, the words pour out of me like steam from a whistling teapot.
On bad days, I’m about as productive as a snail teaching itself to jump.
And you know what I do on those days when I feel like a snail trying to jump?
Nothing, because I have writer’s block.
My mind has been infected with the worries of tomorrow, and not the poetry of today.
It centers around my math test instead of something I could write poetry about,
And no, I will never voluntarily write anything that has to do with math.
So here I am, still
Staring at a...
Wait, there’s a poem on this page now!
Huh, I guess you can even write poetry about not being able to write poetry...