The blank white page is taunting.
It is flawless, pristine, unscarred.
It mocks me openly, saying,
“You have no talent.
If you did, then it would be displayed on this paper.”
Everything about it is perfect.
It doesn’t wish to be disturbed;
But still it is taunting,
A silent, open canvas.
So I take my words,
Pour out my soul,
And quash its mockery.
That’s a great poem! It’s very witty, it was very fun to read and really expressed my occasional writer’s block.
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Thank you! I’m glad it resonated with your writer’s block too. That is how mine feels haha.. 🙂
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