The Scrambled Philosophies That I Call Thoughts

I Swear

Writer's block is gonna be the death of me, I swear
Sitting here on my bed
Supposed to be folding clothes
But instead, in my head, everything's enclosed
Lyrics to unwritten songs dancing around in my brain
Writing is my sunshine; comprehension is the rain
Idiotically sitting idle, patiently waiting here
Just trying to write one song, because I haven't been able to in years
And I swore up and down that my creativity wouldn't disappear
But that was long ago; then
And look where I am now; here
Songs of other artists spinning 'round in my head
And here I am grieving
Wishing I could write like them instead
The harmonies and melodies my brain can't seem to construct
Deem me undoubtedly and irrevocably stuck
Gosh, I don't understand
Why is it so hard?
Maybe it's me blocking it
Maybe I'm not letting down my guard
I don't have the slightest clue where any of this came from
I just couldn't write a song, then the feelings started to come
And I know this poem is crappy
I know it's just plain bad
But it's the only thing that popped in my head
It's genuinely all that I had
But inspiration is everywhere
I just realized it now
All I need to do is act on it
But I have yet to learn how
Writer's block is gonna be the death of me, I swear
Just sitting on my bed
Pulling out my hair