(A.K.A. My Mum badgered me to post my ramblings and annoyance about staring at a blank screen).
Everything I write, it’s absolutely rubbish. The words are just lodged in my head, stuck behind a brick wall of self-loathing.
When I need them,
They’re not there.
When I’m busy with something else,
They come and pester me,
Whisper in my ear…
Forgotten by the time I’ve found
The pad.
Feck, it’s annoying.
How can I finish anything
When inspiration
Has disappeared
And motivation
Is having
A drink
At
The
Local
Pub.
Both of them come home drunk
At night.
How fun.
I could cry and complain
But who would I do that too?
The only people in my life
Can’t understand, no matter
How hard I try to explain.
Their rule book
Doesn’t exist
In the creatures
In my control.
Ugh…
Stuck.
Words.
Come.
Out.
Please…
I’m begging you…
The Literary Onion 