When they speak of writer’s block 

I think of a block of cheese 

Cheddar or Gouda, pining to be shredded with ease 

Or the ticking sound of the clock 

That always reminds me of my fleeting nature 

Of my life, my time, coming to an end

And I try to stay afloat but all my worries cling to me like an anchor 

I descend 

The writer’s block is a dam 

Not a damn 

It’s the barricade between who I want to be and who I actually am 

But sometimes I remind myself that I am a sprinter 

A decent swimmer 

An aspiring chef

A white page is an invitation for me to show up and do my best 

If I’ve got no grand plot 

I can always write about writer’s block 

While I nibble on some cheese 

The blank page is a tease 

I don’t mind the clock 

I put the pen to paper 

Sprawl out on endless acres 

And like cooking a dish 

Or running merely for the bliss 

I just begin