Writer’s Block

Self-quarantine finally blocks my creativity, thank you. This is written for my project of 30 days of writing. This is dedicatr to honor my lack of creativity and frustration.

Help me, I know what’s wrong but I can’t do much.

I’m having a hard time keeping my commitment, trying to write.

I even forgot what’s truly interesting anymore.

Isn’t it pointless if I wrote things that are not exciting for me?

I still have many questions I can’t answer.

The answer is not that appealing anymore.

I just want to be alone but I can’t take this loneliness.

Maybe I do feel disconnected, as I am an extrovert.

I missed my old life, but who doesn’t?

I know what I wrote can be a good reminder and experience for the reader.

But, right now let me be tired.

Maybe all of this drama, all of this little box called house is just a jail.

I don’t know when I became a prisoner.

In my own house, and my head.

I don’t know how to stop acting like a bird in the cage.

Maybe I never really free from my thought.