Roses Roses Poet Spoken Word

The Story of Writers Block

The Tortured Poets Department has a writer's division that has to approve every poem 

And my mind is tired of being held hostage

A loose-leaf definition of writer's block was once defined by the utter of: I don't feel like writing

Is this even good enough, my hand only works for the remote today

Then she interrupts my train of thought to ask: why have you never wrote a poem about me

It's not that I haven't

There are hundreds getting as comfortable as you can be in the waste basket

The last poem I Kobe shot to the trash can started like this:

An eye lash is trying to make your cheek more than just a Sunday service sanctuary

It wants a home

I know you'd like me to remove it

But who am I to destroy a home

I can't help but think how beautiful you look with that eye lash

As it rests there like a pair of doves flirting on a branch not far away from me

What are you starring at, she exclaims

Oh, nothing I reply, today I'll let the eye lash remain

On

Your rosy cheeks, kissed by my dead rose petal lips

Reminding you of the time we went camping and you hated that you smelled the outside

And I kept teasing you but hiking, visualizing, and tenting next to nature is maybe the closest thing to

Falling asleep to your beautiful

Falling asleep to your beautiful

Falling asleep to your gorgeous

Ugh I can't never find the right words to describe a tenth of your gorgeous

And it makes me want to drop dead out of frustration

Because the writers need to feel exactly what I do when they read:

Holding her hand is to get a glimpse of forever before I die

Holding her makes my heart resemble the flight of a butterfly

Holding her hand is to crush all my battles in the palm of my hand 

The writers consist of a various assortment of personality; often referred to as me, myself, and I

And as I get ready to seal this poem to you the writer’s block me every time

p.s. I haven't learned to love myself enough to love you...

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