That's Why I Gave Up On Writing

When my pen brushes the page, My fingers seem to tense And when the words try to form, They don't seem to make sense. I can't get it right, Haiku, free verse, With each line, It only gets worse. I try and fail, Who cares? When the pen presses, And the page tears? Metaphors and analogies, Away they flew, And all I get out is, 'Two' rhymes with 'blue.' When the poem loses structure, And the scaffolding tumbles down, Whose there to catch it? To rebuild the pieces? To uncrease the creases? When the ink makes an enemy of the tree, And the pen tries to flee, And I struggle to find the need, To continue my writing stead. Leaving me pinned to that self made deadline, Promises id made in mind, "If you don't finish you're worthless" And my value drops as I work less. I find that my pen can't form the rhymes, That I've done before a million times, And I find that rain, has rusted the gears of my brain. Rhymes are forced in one, Scratch, These words lack freewill and fun, Patch, The metaphors shine like the sun, And each word ends up as Icarus, Finding it too late to run. I gave up on writing, But my hands still cling to the book, Draft one, Draft two, Draft red, Draft blue. My ocean of motivation is drained, And the droplets form without flow, So, So that's why, So that's why. So that's why I...