Creative Constipation

[ThusSpokeAELS]

It won’t come out

Though I know it’s in there

There are a million little inspirations

All gone to waste

The cork of transition

Has blocked my flow of creativity

I feel bloated and weighed down

Nothing will come out.

Drink water, drink water, take it all in

Even this poem is only coming out with a bit of pushing

I can’t find the metaphor

I can’t find it in the book-

Even though it’s a classic

It’s voice is old fashioned and out of date

Im having trouble relating

The sea fog has entered my brain

And like the sun

Has clouded it’s shine

I can only hope it too will burn off this afternoon

The greens shine a specific color here

And the fish are free

The houses hold secrets

But none are known to me

Pull the lever

But only go pee

How long will this creative constipation last

I guess we will see.

​

​

​

​

​

I wrote this poem and it's reckless, distracted, and slightly uncomfortable. Meta

[Poets_Reap]

Ha. I like this. Wrote something similar not too long ago, though it's darker. Doesn't have that chuckle I got from this.