Sometimes I get a writer’s block
And don’t know what to say
Or think the things that come to mind
Ought not see light of day
If only to avoid the names
Of those who are my friends
When public facing are these poems
And could be caught by trends
And some things ought stay away
From sight of public eye
Remain within the private realm
‘Tween me, myself, and I
Besides all that I really do
Just lack the thougts at night
To come up with a set of words
Worthy of seeing light
So now I think I’ll end this work
Which has been a cliche
And go about my night routine
To fin’lly close my day
I’m pretty sure this is the third or fourth poem that I’ve written about writer’s block. It really does seem ironic that the concept of not being able to write is so easy to write about, but maybe the real writer’s block was the ‘lack of being able to find something that’s actually interesting to write about’ that we made along the way.