(AN: Since I have do a poetry unit for school, I decided the type them all up on here, here is my ballad that I pretty much wrote by mistake, since I was just writing something to what I thought was for me and me alone, it turns out it complies with my criteria. It isn't a proper ballad because my stresses don't work, so I won't call it one, but my stresses weren't part of the criteria.)

Writers Pains

I can only make uninspired pieces of prose

It must be writers block

The words seem only to mock

It is like my pencil just froze

There is no beautiful imagery of a rose

Only the clock going tick-tock

An idea in my mind just will not dock

It is right on the tip of my nose

That can't be right, only heaven knows

My so called 'inner eye' can only gawk

This unwritten epic just won't unlock

No story can be fabricated, no tale to be sew'd

I am writing to stay in clothes

I can barely afford a smock

I would settle for a sock

Oh to being a writer trying to compose