Dear Old Writers Block

I pace the corners of my brain Back and forth, forth and back But the words never make their appearance I scratch at the cracks of my cortex Tearing everything away like a mad man Demanding to get a peek at inspiration But I only found cob-webs and dust Impatiently I freak out Shoving the words But the words shove back Letting me know Who’s really in control here I sit, defended by dear old writers block Wondering if I’ll ever Be the writer I intended to be.