A Frustrated writer about to Explode!

ok! so here's the freakin deal! SOME people, and i mean SOME PEOPLE * throws an angry jelous glance at sha* have been making me very jelous, verry jelous, to the point that i think im developing whats even worse than writer's block ( all my writer's out there would be familiar with this terminology, and to the non-writers out there, it basically means when your head is emptied from any decent thing what so ever to write about, and thus, you are left with a fat huge block blocking your creativity from flowing and embracing the white emtpy mocking smirking blank page)

SO ive been developing whats even worse than a writer's block, ive become FRUSTRATED. and when your FRUSTRATED, you develop this ugly knot in your tummy, and you feel like crying just for the heck of it ( and to feel like the dramah queen you really are) to just, let it out.

You see, to likes of me, writing is like.. breathing. Exageration mon cherie? let it be! Writing is the big fat ice-cream scopp that scoops all my fears, worries, pressing contemplative thoughts and whatever is in here *beats at her chest* OUT and touch that smirking mockering son of a tree of a white page and shut him up!

*siiighs*

So i have another smirking mockering son of a man who's challenging me, to make him ACCEPT english poetry. and he calls it, i qoute, "impossible". ( he's into Arabic poetry and he thinks now-a-days english poems are, how can i put it in a nice way? rubbish?)

So that came in one heck of a time, especially when im trying to fight the writer's blues ( terminology that means, writer's depression due to either NOT writing, or NOT writing somthin decent which is basically the same as the first one)

*siiighs*

So im gunna post this poetic piece with eyes full shut, cuz i know its very ruff around the edges and just.. like, bundles of words sown carelessly together to make up a being but i cannot figure what is it exactly.

This is what i call, a writer's leap of faith.

Ladies and gentlemen,

A production of a frustrated Poet..

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I am..

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Fluttering,
Powder-frail wings
Crumbling,
In the confines of a tomb

I wish I haven’t died that night.


Weeping,
Hydrochloric tears
That plows the field.
It rains fire,
And fire rains stone.
And stone becomes dust,
And dust, remains dust
Till the rising of the dawn

I failed. And I pay- tonight.


I smother my grievances,
And beg it,
Please, no more.
Hush, now.
Sleep.
Please sleep.
Die.
Please die.

But it won't die.


Carve this heart of mine from stone
And hollow it and fill it with snippets of his poetry
With the liquid of his ink
With the caresses of his pen

I am a character
In his plays of beautiful customs,
And bullshit scripts


I wear a smile to hide the tears
And wear tears to hide a smile


I do not own my shadow
I am infused into him


He creates me
I am him
I am his life
I make his life


I am significant
And insignificant

Unworthy
To be worthy


And worthy
To be unworthy


Do you know who am I?

I am the reason you fell in love with him, stupid woman.
I am the reason you got your heart broken, you poor child.

I am the reason you laughed all your laughter,
And cried all your tears

I am words
The vein of him

The vein of a poet's world.

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