I have to write three hundred words,
but the words, they just aren't coming.
So I'll write a dumb po-em instead,
To writer's block I'm succumbing.
There's nothing fun to say or write,
My brain is full of fuzz.
It's like my mind's a raisin,
no creative juice-just because.
Do you see how that last rhyme
was super duper lame?
But they were words and they rhymed
And in hindsight at least they came.
Oh writer's block, oh writer's block,
you make it hard to write.
Because how can you tell a story
when every word's a fight?
Three hundred words, three hundred words?!
They may as well be Everest.
Yet for all my vocabularic strength,
Right now I'm not the cleverest.
Write, thou pen!
Type, reluctant fingers!
Come forth, the next great American novel that is actually set in 1850s London!
To the void of words, I will not surrender.
And so I start to write.