My hands wouldn’t write what I wanted them to, so I went at both of them with the largest hammer I could find in the house.

As I slipped in my own blood and fell towards the floor, it occurred to me that the pain I felt was more satisfying than any poetry I’d ever scribbled down on the blue-lined tear-streaked pages I called a journal.

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How to strike loose a writer’s block.10.0101

This post was submitted by Savage Henry Lee.

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