Brain Blocks (Poem)

Sometimes a page is like a blank wall,
concrete-hard and unyielding,
cocky when you smash into it headlong,
jeering when you stumble backwards from its blank face.

I never know if other people have this problem,
this word challenge,
or if they have given up and lay there after their fall.
I never know why some words become scribbled messes
on the wall's blank slate,
or if it's rain or tears making the ink drip.

Other times,
I see kids playing handball on my wall,
smacking and thwacking its plaster 'till it crumbles.
I stare at them to stop,
malevolence and defeat mixing around their exercise.
Still, the wall empties out its occupants at dusk
and I am again alone with a dusty pen
lifeless from disuse.

Still other moments
I cover this wall with words,
using only a highlighter.
When that same dusk shifts into midnight jet
I flick a black-light on and watch the words jump to life!
Yet, morning brings a blank slate,
concrete-hard, unyielding
chuckling at the red cracks appearing slowly on my palm,
fanning out with ever frustrating slap.