“Writers block”:
I feel like somebody’s stolen my tools
But, who cares, I have a pack mules
I don’t have time for this so-called “writers block”
If the car doesn’t run, I’ll ride the livestock
I’ll beat on my chest until I can do it
Like a light through a window, I have to pursue it
I have to stay clear and let the universe through
So it can tell me the things that I already knew
I’m not made of brick, I’m made of glass
So “writers block”… You can kiss my ass
I can’t go opaque…Gotta stay transparent
I have a tidal wave inside of me, and it is quite apparent
That even with a blank brain, I keep “bobbing and weaving”
If the words don’t come freely, time for “turn of a phrase thieving”
I’ll build adjective architecture and paint them in verb
There’s always fifty ways to spin a single word
I will dig with my hands and use them like shovels
I will find my words and they’ll heal all my troubles
My tools made of chrome, I cannot find
But I’m willing to scrape the scraps from the bottom of my mind
and push and push against the ever-racing clock
Bite me, you can’t beat me. Fuck off, “writers block”
© 2015 Brian Kesselring.
