This is a poem I wrote a while back. Any thoughts on what I am talking about?
Cogs and gears in the mind, block and halt, Pens hover over paper, urging;
Futile seconds, minutes, spent diverging,
How rules are to be followed without fault; The lines, the rhymes, the structure by default, Raids and ravages first thoughts emerging; However, as said, forced to come surging,
Is original, for words to exalt.
Extra time allowed for right thoughts to come, For rules to be kept and followed by one; Imagination grows, expands, evolves, Individuality brought out from glum,
And when the piece is completed and done,
A righteous masterpiece at whole, resolves.