Tumble dryer

I have writers block,

Like one lonely sock

Looking for it’s pair in the tumble dryer.

My, er, motivation? Where is it,

I’m stuck to this couch, can’t move one bit,

Or maybe I can,

maybe pretending so is the voices plan,

‘You don’t want to do anything,

Nothing,

Not today’

When will the voice, just go away?

 

I want to, I think,

To do something and not sink

Deeper into the crevice of this couch

Waiting for someone or something to pull me out

But no one can

The fight is my own

The wanting to do something vs

The motivation I’ve lost somewhere at home.

 

But- alas, as I write, am I fixed?

Have I cured my writers block?

No, not one bit.

What a terrible poem

Go back to watching the clock,

Stay  where you are,

like the washed lonely sock.

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