The despair of not knowing how to write

I have been having a bit of a wirter's block, so i hope this one is good and not totally bad

I wish i knew how to write,

How to place my words right

And not fail completely at expressing the thoughts that rush through my head, and grow roots in the labyrinth of my mind.

Making it impossible to escape.

I wish i knew how to write,

How to put words on paper without my hand shaking, scared of what people will read in them, scared that the words are bleeding my despair out of the page

Is it flowing out? That despair?

Is it red? Like the blood i try to stop from my old wounds?

Is it blue? Like the ink from the pen i used?

Is it yellow? Like the color of the house where i grew up?

Is it pink? Like my old doll’s dress?

Is it the color of my eyes when they weep?

Or does that despair have any color at all?

Does the paper show how desperate i am to know how to write?

To learn how to place my words right?

Does it show anything at all?

Cause sometimes when i look back at them, i see words of trauma and mistrust, but they feel empty, blank, emotion nowhere to be found, like the yellow house where i grew up in, and the color of my eyes when they weep.