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My words have been caged up for months, not able or willing to break free, this struggle to write fills the inside of me. I'm ready, let's do it, lets get it in,
as soon as I sit down my thoughts from my mind, transend to my pen, followed by the words on my paper that soon blended in
with the lines causeing me to get annoyed, crumbling this paper now tossing it in the bin, my thoughts has got me mind f***** again.
I feel crazy, psychotic, delusional, you know feeling a little unsual.
I'm tired of this poetic drought that im in, my pen and my paper
aren't making love anymore more and this is not irrefutable.
I'm dieing to write what's inside of me, so I
sit back and breath...Relax...but when I put
my pen to my paper it's like a mismatch, I so
frustrated, angry, I'm yelling at my jouranl
like...I'm trying to put thoughts inside of you, I'm
squeezeing my pen yelling what the f*** is wrong with you.
My pen is my left hand my paper my right, with this
poetic drought I don't know what the f*** to write.
Please excuse my language for I know it's not right,
but im just pissed ya'll this poetic drought has no end insight.
