  I just wrote this. It's not actually true, not at the moment. It's true sometimes, usually when I want to write fiction. It's in a slightly different style of poetry than usual, for me. It doesn't have any rhyme scheme or even a hint of meter. Anyway, here it is: On Writing by Abigail I stare at an empty document, Wondering what to write.
No ideas coming. Lazily I start to type, But nothing comes out. Only words. No revolutionary ideas, Just a poem, by a nerd. It barely rhymes. I’ve got writer’s block, I guess.
But maybe I’m no writer after all. Maybe this is the end of my writing career, Perhaps I’ve hit some immovable wall. What is writing, anyway? Possibly I never knew. I hope I’ll find out, someday. But what can I do?
How can I find out, I mean. What happens when you want to write, But can’t. I hate staring at an empty screen. 
