The Ongoing Feud with Writer's Block

Hi, my name is "T" and I used to be a poet....

When I wrote it was like a weight lifted off me
And let me continue through life effortlessly
And when I was writing
It seemed that time slipped by unnoticeably
Until it was time to drop what I was doing
And confront the mundane routines of my life
Like working, cleaning, laundry ... you know, those things!
Well anyway
That's the way I USED to be
And now when I even think about writing a verse
It seems like a well documented curse
That "T", which is me
Is to be frustrated and confounded
By a gift that used to come so easily
I mean even to repeat some of my old pieces
Is like digging for a piece of glass in a desert
And when it came down to performing
You could have called me a practicing expert
Now only to play novice...
If and when I find time to write
It seems fate has a knack
Of placing something else on my back
But a voice still beckons
Only to be locked up with bars lined with
"maybe another time" or "this doesn't sound right"
And what used to be months
Has grown into years
And that voice that used to run rampant through these halls
Is now a faded whisper ducking and dodging through the disappearing thoughts
Of those that used to sit and wait upon the mighty vocabulary of "T", which is me!
And don't think I didn't try to recover for this ailment
By no means was I going to let something like this hold me back
But what had happened was...
Things started getting in the way
Bills started piling up
I mean it seemed that having a job was becoming my worse enemy
Draining me of all inspiration to speak
But, it's a back and forth situation
And whenever I find myself on the winning side
I come out with stuff like this
Only to go back under the radar for a few more months or years...


Peace