Writer's Block

Poem By Cat Summers

Blank pages lust for the pen of my mind
To brush against teir untouched surface
The need to put my pen to paper burns and compels me
Nevertheless in my minds own indecisiveness it argues back
As it forms undecided thoughts of what to write about

Shall it slice open old wounds
Enter my past and drip forth blood of happenings long ago
And watch as it stains words across the paper?

Maybe the mind should crack open
Spilling forth all my stubborn opinions
Through figners that wait and grasp an unused pencil

Or does it ache
To mock the lives of all those around me
About their endless complains of a reality they believe has been so cruel to them?

Perhaps it will open a portal and step through to the future
To was as prophecies are fulilled as thoughts record my future
As rush into my pencil that eagerly waits to scribble them down
Before they slip back into the unreachable cracks of my mind

Trying to think of words to fill this virgin paper
Brainstorming, thoughts not forming
Just set down the pencil, put aside the pen
Stare at the paper
Until blood forms in your gaze
And wait for the blood of your thoughts to flow
Forming words across the paper...
Alas, the mind cannot

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Other poems of SUMMERS

Demon Within

Though angels touch my face,
Within thy veiled innocence lays a demonic race,
Whose blood-ridden and morbid illusions cloud my inward vision,
And threaten to break lose,

Numb Inside

I am numb inside,
An emotional roller coaster ride?
Just the opposite, I am numb
Holding on to bankrupt emotions

I Am—

I am—
Your precious marionette
Tug my strings any which way
And I won’t be able to object

The Wannabe

You say you’re not a loser,
That you’re not like all the others,
But every time I look into the golden eyes of truth,
I see a wannabe,

Foolish Fool

Foolish fool
Do not label me
You cannot classify me