The Tired Writer

I grow tired of being a writer,

fear I have nothing left to say,

and it's odd when all the words I had

used to take your breath away.

I grow tired of being a writer,

fear the oppressors have prevailed,

when once upon a time I would

forge armies with my tales.

I stand alone on pages blank,

staring at the ink of my hands,

and wonder when all of the castles I built

had their stone swapped out for sand.

When you scream until your throat is raw

and cry until it bleeds,

and only the crickets hear your pain...

I wonder if the problem is me.