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Oh hello old friend, Long time no see. Are you here to inspire me?   You left me locked in an empty cage You didn’t listen to a single plea. 
“I should be writing”   I tell myself With an empty mind…     I should be writing, but I’ve gathered
Aren't these things supposed to flow naturally? Shouldn't I just be able to pour my feelings out into my writing? Write eloquent, tearjerking stories  and just get it all out Why can't I?
Writer's block is a painful endeavor. So bad it makes me question my creativity and if a spark of it existed ever. If only there was a magic pill or convenient mushroom sitting around waiting to be consumed.
Dear Kayla,   I can’t make you walk on flower trails. I can’t force you to see only the good things. To promise you
Dear Writer's Block, I tried to write a song today, but something got in the way. Was it you? You decided to show up again I thought I told you we're not even friends Yes, what I said was true.
We fought day and night, But he never followed the rules. He knew how to wear me down, But I won this war.   He wears different masks But he is one and the same- a distraction.
I can't think of anything... Writers Block. I hate it.  A big huge wall were your mind stops thinking and you are staring a little bar on your computer screen. The worst is when you are writing a paper.
  When I was eleven, I knew what I was going to do and how I was going to get there. I wrote because the world looked better through my eyes.
Dance and writing are my outlets. The two things that make me the happiest. Two things I don't do nearly enough of. Maybe that's why I feel sad, stuck, Like something's pent-up, caged, Because they are.
I sit and write, and I'm writing now. I listen to my mother howl, I watch my brother sulk and scowl, I hear my cat scamper and prowl. I sit and write, and am writing now. I sit and write, and take a pause.
My brother was forced from home I tried to ask, "why?" The seeds of our love were sown I received no reply
Writers BlockWriters BlockWriters BlockWriters BlockWriters Block  N E E D I N S P I R A T I O N  . . . . .   My brain is melting right now . 
Wandering in a wood of shelves and books, Over litter, leaves fallen and gone From branches of minds the winds of time shook, For one page that remains empty as dawn, A sheet virgin white upon which to write
It’s all up to me, no parameters on what I need to say. I blank, ‘oh shit what am I gonna say?!’ So I look at other poems, How they engage a reader, Empower a reader, Inspire a reader, Make you laugh,
Its a sad poem with no title. I did it today. I never wanted it to be like this Was it an accident? Was it life giving me a sign?
A pen that flows Is a pen that knows What it wants And where to go But when it stops It gets stuck Like myself In a rut There are things That I could write But none of my words
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