Block

I hate when I'm in this position

A position that I cannot move from 

I can see myself moving, I think that's called an out of body experience 

But yet, I sit still, my hands don't move and neither does my pen 

I have so much to say 

So much to talk about
I have a way to vent 

But yet, I cannot let it out 

Why? I don't know
I think I'm stuck in another dimension 

One that creatives hate it's called "Writers Block" 

Then I think of the phrase by Charles Bukowski
"writing about writers bock is better than not writing at all" 

I guess that's what this poem is about

I have writers block 

I have a synopsis
I have a table of contents
But yet, I cannot fill in the spaces
I guess the block is needed 

God does do everything for a reason 

So instead of stressing about my novel tragedies 

I will use this time to reflect on 

Me... 

-Ebony