Writer's Block

Last month, I hit a writer's block.
And I didn't realize it until today.

I would sit down in front of my computer and position my fingers along the middle keys of the board,
Ready to write about a feeling that had been stuck in my chest.
With each passing line, the words sound less like me
Like words of an academic essay I was being forced to write.
I have so much to say and so much that I feel
But I just can't find the write words to describe it
And what I know structurally is not advanced enough to make any sense on screen.
How can someone possibly feel so much in their soul
For the lives of themselves and especially others
But at the same time, feel so dead in the skull
So disconnected from a life full of passion and a dream they have been battling to achieve?
This life once came so easy for me
My thoughts flawlessly flowed through the compartments of my mind
To the veins spread along my wrists
And it spread onto my canvas.

Repetition and rhyme.
The two things I have always known that knock back and forth like mallets on the boards of my broken brain
Trying to create the perfect phrase meant for praise
But the art that once came so easy is now forged from fingers that were never mine
The veins that once beat in sync with my body are sliced into pieces I can not find
And I am reminded that I am only who I am because of the monster who built me
The one who drowned my voice into the ground so deep that I had to teach myself how to dig it out
And I learned to mold my vocal chords into a sword sharp enough to slice through its words
But the farther I got away from it, the more my weapon became fused into my back
Creating scars on my wrists with each protective swing.

How can I be so full of love
Yet still struggle to love myself
And the talent that I once was known for is now becoming the undusted frame in the back of the room
The blocks on my hands becoming cemented into the table
And dragging my body back into the same hole I worked so hard to dig out of.

This month, I know this feeling will pass.
I have learned that love is beautiful
And that I am beautiful because I am full of love
And the little girl locked in her bedroom to hide from the monster downstairs
Would be so proud of where I am today.
And just because I hit a writer's block
Or worry that the boy I love will no longer love me anymore
Or have forgotten where the escape door is in this rage of war
Does not mean I will give up
Because each passing word is lifting the blocks from my hands
And giving me the strength to get back up again.

So tomorrow, I will rise with the sun.
I will make the bed and debate if I should straighten my hair
Miss my sisters, my parents, and my brother back at home
And before the day ends, I will tell the boy that I love that he is my angel.
Because we are living proof that the story has not reached its end
And the cement blocks solidified around our hands are only as big as we tell.