Isolation

My mind is void of any and all creativity. Some part of me has deemed it unworthy. I don’t want to say it’s gone but I can’t find where it went. I look back on past creativity and some of it makes me sick, it’s cringe worthy oppressive and chained. Others the creativity makes me want to cry, some of it brings light but most of it dark. The depths of my heart is where creativity began. Yet my heart is blocked in pain or worst yet void. I feel blank. Happiness is few and in between. Joy is slow although contentment is still.