There’s a drought in my brain
No ideas left to drain
Yet still I refrain from not writing
Fickle thoughts
Creating knots in my head
Bland distractions
Cause me to take the most action
Far and near, I wait for something to appear
To stay like this is all I fear
I wait, and wait
That’s all I do
Expecting some sort of meager bait
Self criticism clouding creativity
Inflating negativity
Diminishing capability
But eventually
I force myself away from my natural proclivity
Pull away from unproductivity
I open up to clarity
My mind finds a sense of dexterity
The ideas start to flow
I feel like Edgar Allan Poe
As I banish this foe
I call writer’s block