Writer's block

I've had literally the worst writer's block ever, for the past couple of months. I don't know if you've read my previous blog posts, but the quality has been dropping steadily, until a month ago or so, I haven't been able to write anything at all, even though a bunch of events have taken place in my life. I re read the very last poem that I've written, about a year ago, and it is by far my best one.  I may post it on here at one point.
I'm currently going through a confusing (not difficult, but I'm not sure how to deal with it) ordeal right now, and I've been trying to get my thoughts down on paper. A paragraph just won't cut it, and it's not the type of thing I can write a short story about, since I don't understand what's going on myself. I've been trying to get it down either in a poem or in lyrics, armed with my guitar, but nothing is happening and all I can do is improvise a couple verses that end up boiling down to nothing. I've therefore decided to do a series of writing exercises that have done nothing at all for me. Frustrated that I couldn't find a creative and logical way to summarize my bio notes, I decided to get back in touch with my creative side, as it apparently has helped me to study in the past. I also decided that the "ordeal" afore-mentioned that I'm living is keeping me from concentrating properly, and that writing a poem describing my exact feelings about it would help. So I sat down in the middle of the library, kicked off my shoes (I'm in the hipster library, it's fine, I won't be judged for it) and tried not once, but eight times to start a poem that made sense. Nothing. Therefore, I literally just wrote whatever came to mind, without stopping. I wrote for about two minutes, which is still a lot considering you have to think words for two full minutes, and here's what I came up with:

I have so much to say but I literally cannot get it out

I would love to repeat my successes of the past

but the rhymes are stuck somewhere between

no man's land and the crater that my creativity has

landed in, out of reach, out of bounds. What am I to write

when the words are stuck somewhere in my throat and my fingers

can't find the right keys to press to make a masterpiece,

when my brain is frozen and my thoughts slow as in a fog,

fighting like a parachute-ridden sprint across a grey

landscape, the one they call “writer's block”.

What am I supposed to write when all I want to express is my

frustration as to why I cannot get my feelings out, such as they

tumble out of my brain, out of my heart until they all get stuck

at the threshold of my expressivism, until all I see are

questions in eyes of those that I want to speak to, but cannot reach,

as if communication was the fire to my inner cave man.

I can feel them fighting to get out, but every time I sit down

to right them down other things take over and the words, once so

helpful and friendly, fight me in order to let themselves be hidden once more,

in the prison of a cage of something I can't even define,

when jadis the paper was my escape and the definitions were

subtelties that could help me express one thing over it's synonym's

and only those well written could understand the nuances of

everything that I felt and saw in the world around me.

I've corrected the typos, but apart from that,  I've left the rest untouched, french words and made up words included. I'll be posting the poem that I did write, the one that I like, later on (did I already mention that?) but here is the product of my writer's block. Writing this post is actually much easier than writing the last one (I don't know if you noticed, but it's ridden with typos and it's jerky) and I feel like I'm thinking much clearer, so there's that. 

Veronik