Writer’s Block

We are approaching two months of this thing called ‘writer’s block’
It has brought an avalanche of anxiety and desperation due to the lack of fluid expression
Every day, I grab the nearest notebook, or the notes on my phone, and lay my words to rest
But that is all they do – lay. Never actually paving a way towards provocation
I fill the space between uselessness and somberness with pages of my past
Things purposely forgotten, things curious and masochistically amusing
There use to be fear that the true depths of love would never come again
The implanted idea that I was attracting tainted loves and nothing more
The absolute astonishment of manipulation that was put in my way for almost the entirety of 2016
The fact that my worth was questioned on an hourly basis, when the worth of those drowning me was without question, minimum wage
Those pages from the past awakened emotions and events and I had said goodbye to
Reminders of holes I had fallen in to, and the time and strength it took to climb out
A reminder that I have been stuck before and will be stuck again
Ultimately accepting the fate of tremulous ups and downs, learning how to live with both

All content is a L.A. CORONA original unless otherwise posted.