If only my brain worked at my pace
Could start what it can finish.
And finish what it starts.
But there is a barrier in front of my face.

This barrier is a block, a dam, a wall
I'm head-deep in my thoughts
Yet they never come out
And if I try to climg this wall, I will fall

I wish I knew how break it, burn it down
This wall wasn't made by man
It isn't breakable by force
My brain made it, to keep me from burning out?

Or because I already did?

My hands are made to create beauty, art
I write what I see inside me
And create what makes me happy
Yet it isn't made to be beauty, it sets me apart

I don't want to make a masterpiece
I want to make a story
My own little world
What I make distracts me, gives me peace

I fixate on things too small.
No movement is made.
Some stories start to stall
It's something I hate

To abandon a story
To leave it behind
But it won't be much, sorry
It's not what I had in mind


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Got out of writers block!

I'm going to be temporarily pushing The Dinner aside, I can't think of where it can go atm.

I will focus on my poetry and possibly other shorter stories.

Sorry to fans of The Dinner, but it may be picked back up, all hope is not lost!