Dear Writer’s Block,
I’m told by some that you do not exist
And by others you do but you must be resisted.
It matters not to someone like me
Whether you’re real or make believe.
All I want to do is write
But something inside me puts up a fight.
One more word is the name of the game
But when the words don’t come, who’s to blame?
Maybe it’s me, maybe it’s you
At the end of the day, what’s left to do?
I could write a poem of meaningless fluff
While I think of all the grander stuff
So when I glance back at the clock
I can say I did something about you, Writer’s Block.
P.S. I hate you. Please die.