Writer's Block Therapy
Trying to get through writer's mental constipation, a REALLY bad case too, so I am just going to put thoughts down until I jar something loose.

Session 1

When you met me I was the writer stuck in a cage, a song bird cooped up. Only know do I realize that was and is the case. For years I believed that bird's neck rung and his song ended.

Every day I returned to that coal mine of negative energy, my spirit just became weaker and weaker. And I retreated into myself. The whole time you have had your son, your parents, your LIFE, and I ignored you to stay stuck on me. When I should have just relaxed, related and released that shit. I was having too much fun at my own personal pity party. SELFISH. I can't help but understand if you never see me "that way" again. I failed the vision of us.

In a previous poem, I wrote that we stand on opposite sides of the river of life. I know now I was wrong. We stand side by side at the river, you see me for whom I really am. You stand close enough to see my cracks, my flaws. I am left to wonder if you could ever see me as the conquering hero you originally thought I may to be?

Will you believe me when I say to you that I AM him? Or will you see it as just more slick talk from the snake oil salesman, the fraud? Please here me ... I will not lose, again.