Writer’s Block

Devon DeMarco

I feel this page is laughing,

Laughing at me and I’m crashing.

I’m crashing out, slashing at every word,

These words don’t feel like birds.

Birds are flying, full of something,

I feel as if my ballad is a dumb thing.

The words usually leave a ding,

But with this ballad, I don’t feel a thing.

I feel like this writer’s block,

Is as stubborn as a slow clock.

I feel as if I’ve been hit with a rock,

This page is just a doc.

A doc that mocks,

This feels like a box.

I am only a prey for these words, that are hawks.

Waiting for the perfect strike on the flock.

But I am the flock,

And these words are not hawks.

For they are just words,

And none of this is about birds.