Something I get stuck on,
Something I cannot break,
I try to figure out what to write,
Instead of staring at this slate.
I try to rack throughout my mind,
Thinking like Lewis Carroll,
I try to empty my head,
Unlike that crazed Will Ferrell.
What do I do?
What should I write about?
I can't think of anything,
And I just want to shout.
I think of subjects in my head,
Looking for available pictures,
But all I see is a big white wall,
And all its big bumpy textures.
Why can't I think of anything?
Why can't I write?
It'd be no better on a keyboard,
In which I'd type in plain sight.
What is the point of this?
Why can't my mind connect?
I cannot think of anything
That I'd rather dissect.
People complain about this all the time,
And it always does bug me,
I hate it when it comes back,
Stinging me like a Goddang bee.
Whenever I write this essay,
Though a procrastinator I am not,
Mrs Stoel may be proud of me,
Since she's very hot.
When will I get this essay done?
Hell, when will I get this started?
And, man, does it stink in here,
Because my brother just sharted.
I have to put the fingers on the keys,
If I want to get this essay done;
I have to think of something,
In order to finish page one.
My siblings are noisy in the background,
Interrupting my train of thought,
If only I had a quieter place,
To be where God has not wrought.
I can think of something,
I'm sure of it by now,
But I have to tear down this wall,
If I can jump off the bow.
Do't be sensitive of the water,
'Tis only a metaphor,
Just ignore what I said,
And go on out the door.
I need to finish this essay,
Which is due tomorrow,
But how can I do something,
When I'm surrounded by this sorrow?
I have to think of something,
For this English essay pronto,
Or I will be regretting it,
If I don't go for rapido.
It's been an hour,
And I don't know what to write;
And Anna's talking in my head,
She's blind right to her sight.
If only I could think,
If only I could write,
If only I was like Corrine,
So this essay doesn't bite.
Now, Holly's barking in the background,
Making matters worse,
And Lucy does her stupid beighing,
Making me more terse.
What am I going to do,
I cannot stand this writer's block,
I try to think of something,
Even with Mom and her pot of crock.
I will think of something,
And it better be very soon,
Or I will fail my class,
Looking like a buffoon.
And then I suddenly thought of something,
And I finally cracked the wall,
I thought of the Roman Empire,
And why it had its downfall.
There was an idea to my essay,
Thank God for helping me there,
I can finally write it out,
As I sit in this chair.
I have finally cracked the block,
This thing that I abhor,
I finally have my idea,
Which is what art is for.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem