When every word matters, when there is a word limit,
they never told you how swiftly writer's block would strike.
Your typing fingers are constipated,
your mind clutches for words desperately as you sleep,
your legs thrash off the covers and you wake up in a cold sweat
blinking away the after-image of a computer screen.
You no longer remember the pleasures of paper and pen
those days of carefree spiral notebooks, privacy and poetry
replaced by deadlines and judgment
(these have slowly etched themselves into your forehead
horizontally
you never knew your reflection
would turn to hand over eyes, thumb and index rubbing temples
staving off the ache of words locked in)
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