Writer’s block the cursed thing that anyone with an ounce of creativity resents.

The monster that rest in your mind creating chaos every time a word is written on a page, deleting it, questioning it, and making you wonder if any thing you have written is at least salvageable.

Authors would gladly instead be on the chopping block, so they would never have to face that monster again. And as the axe swings down it lets out all the ideas they had sink into the ground, the crowd, and a single butterfly floating by.

They swirl and change but floating nonetheless for once they are free to roam the skies like they were born to do.

They live on there own agenda and move as they feel because this is what they were born to do.

They inspire everyone and everything from the children whispering in delight to aging adults in the crowd like they were born to do

the inspiration will spread from mountains to hills.

It will spread to valleys and rivers.

It will roam free

until

the day the greedy business man crushes it with his iron fist.

Until

the strict teacher limits its potental striping it down to a few words.

Until

the writer’s mind is blocked with iron bars because of masses brainwashing.

And it will be blocked off until that young child walks still seeing the stars during the day.

It will spread to rivers and mountains until the day the young child

is pushed around for seeing the stars during the day.

It will spread until the strict mother takes him to therapy for seeing the stars during the day

And soon there won't be any stars during the day.

And as that young boy now a man sits at the table wondering, hoping that words could be on the page not knowing how his creativity was taken from him at young age.

While some say the monster rests in us however I say we are the monster. From the crushing governments, to the country's lack the ability to say what's on your mind. They twist and turn our brains around so when a word is written on a page a thousand people have written the same sentence.

It is these places that make the monster thrives it's sick diet. Creativity with a side of laughter freshly sucked from the soul straight to the monster’s heart.

                          Leaving you drier for a drop of creativity than

    you have been in your entire life.

                     Leaving you a clone of any stranger you would meet.

            And if anyone is to stray from this status quo they are shunned to the outskirts of society.

From the freedom of speech that is monitored every day to the "legal" acts of foreign governments. Who's to say it's not your mind that blocks creativity but society?