Red Ink (Revision)

[vagabond]

Can't come up with the words I wanted,

My creativity is stunted.                                 i suggest not trying to rhyme if there is no specific form containing the rhyme scheme (maybe this judgement comes only because forced rhyme and meter is my own prime mistake when trying to shape  a story)

Full of stress and anger, got my mental behavior in danger,

Yell a curse at the savior.

Now I'm writing in red, hurting in my head.

Just don't know what I want said.                  leave out lines like this and the two following ones .. it unneccessarily makes the poem longer and distracts from what you want to say.

I don't feel it, think I lost my touch.

'Bout ready to bust.

Guess I lost trust in my own mind,

Wish there was a rewind.

Back to the days when imagination was a gold mine.   as a reader i could use an example right here

What is the problem?

When I put my pen to paper,

just get a blank stare.

No vision in my eyes or mind,

only hate there.                                this is a point that needs explanation

Through and through, creativity fallen to fury.

I'm starting to worry,

Thoughts are a flurry.   i think those rhymes need more story

Need to find a way to keep myself sturdy.

For so long I've been lost in my disbelief.

Everyone I meet, creatin' imaginary beef.

Of course I always knew I was my own fall,

Even when I was a kid playing b-ball.

Couldn't make a friend from a teammate,

Cause I decided I would hate.                           there´s the hate again. i think there´s something in your poem wanting out, but it needs more definite words.

And I often ask myself if it's too late,

look around and I'm alone.

Hangin' at home with no ringin' on my phone.

So I decided to drop the act,

With myself I'm gonna make a pact.

Start living in love instead of anger,                       this "love" seems too much like "deus ex machina". maybe i want to believe, but fail at the moment.

And say goodbye to the bitterness inside my head,                  give an example where this bitterness comes from and as a reader i might relate to it.

So maybe I can stop writing in red.



it´s like you´re pregnant with a story here, but it´s not yet born.
i´m sorry if my critique wasn´t too helpful, it´s all i can offer right now,  but i´d come back to look for an edit.