Dear Writer’s Block,
We certainly are more than acquaintances, aren’t we? Ours isn’t an exclusive relationship. You’ve sowed your seeds in many an artist’s head, and have watched us with a wry smile as we plague ourselves with worry, low self-esteem, doubting every letter that begins to half-form on the surface of our now boycotted imagination.
Words transform into poisoned darts when you decide to become my most unwelcomed guest. Have you no shame? You come back like a cur that has been turned away repeatedly, only, with such displeasing loyalty. You make me say the same things over and over again, blind me with familiarity, feed off my mood swings, and eat away at what little remains of my confidence.
They say I should never acknowledge your presence. How often did you visit Keats, Browning, Kafka, and Eliot? What about Beckett? Did his obsession with the absurd baffle you? Are you the anti-Godot?
A friend once told me that labels and tags infinitely limit us. Perhaps you decide to reside in my head when I get too pompous. A check against myself. A yawp that rings loud and clear. .
I should at least get some perks from your many visits. Do I get a discount if I’m the most frequently visited poet? A ghastly word that reminds me of my insignificance. Are we to be friends with benefits, perhaps? Will you help me birth a line fashioned from my unconscious?
We both know it’s hard to say goodbye. I’ve reveled in you and used you as an excuse for my mediocrity. I want to out-do your cleverness. And for that, I will have to destroy you one thought, one emotion, one feeling, and one syllable at a time.
A Human Who Occasionally Writes
Bangalore, Karnataka, India
Shloka Shankar is a freelance writer from India. She enjoys writing and reading poetry, singing, creating abstract art, and experimenting with the written word from time to time. You can read more of her work here:https://www.facebook.com/Shloka-Shankar-a-rasikas-musings-745965042120215/, or follow her on Twitter @shloks89