Dried Up Ink

My mind's full of words,

but my pen's dried up.

I'm desperately scratching at the paper,

but the ink won't flow.

No matter how hard I press the words don't come,

Like this, they say,

You're doing it all wrong,

Do it like us they tell me.

Oh, Thanks I say.

My pen quavers over the page,

This feels all wrong! I scream at them.

you don't know what you're saying! they scream back

They shove my hand down and my pen finally glides,

the ink flowing.

The words aren't mine.

When I write a line I look back and scratch it out.

No one cares about what I think,

I turn and set my thoughts back up on the shelf.