I’m alone, sitting in a dark room with only my study lamp on. With a pen in my hand and a blank page before me, it’s like I’m going crazy. Am I really losing the plot here? course I can hear it, the blank page of course. It’s whispering, questioning me, but it already knows my answer “are u going to write?…are you going to write a poem?…You are going to write a poem, ain’t you?” as if it is obvious to even a six-year-old, I responded “Yes obviously, I’m definitely going to write a poem today” with a sarcastic laugh “Haa, really?” Said the blank page “…what kind of poem are u going to write?…go ahead write…What’s stopping you?” The blank page knew, it had long known that my mind is as blank as it itself is.

I’m now being tortured by a blank page. Wow! Is this it? The notorious, infamous writer’s block? Yeah, I guess it is. I know every writer at some point has to go through this. And this, writer’s block, is painful to the mind and heart of a writer. What makes it even more painful is the fact that one knows how to make it all stop. Yes, I know the weapon to make this all stop is right in my hand. All I have to do is to make this goddam clean blank page meet the bloody ink, the wrath of this pen that’s in my hand. But I can’t.

It baffles me, how I just can’t bring myself to do the very thing I love. What once came easy to me now feels like the hardest thing a human being can try to do on this very earth. This makes me question my own competence as a writer. But I know that I know I’m a writer, I love writing. It’s what I use to survive in this cruel world. Being able to write in this dark cruel world, to me is like being able to breathe underwater. I have to write, I just have to, it’s a matter of life and death.

It’s been weeks now and I haven’t written anything and I’m trying hard, I swear but every word I write feels wrong. It all feels wrong and I know if I don’t start writing right now, life itself will feel wrong. I don’t want to suffocate in this word. I don’t want to lose myself. I don’t want to end up like the average Joe of today, who takes a rope and hang himself because he doesn’t and does not know how to understand and discover himself. I have discovered myself over and over again by writing. It has always helped me understand myself and the situations around me. SO I just have to write.
I have to write and yes I’m going to write a poem today. It’s time for this blank page before me to shut up and let my pen do all the talking. My pen in my hand knows me well, it’s the closest thing to my heart, let it speak for me. To your blank page, I will let you know, I’m going to use this pen like a hammer, I’m going to break this writer’s block. And it all starts today, with this essay, now my writer’s block is gone.