Simply and slowly scribbling onto the page
Seems like I’m forever going in circles
Nothing is giving life to this page
And yet this piece is due soon
I haven’t even thought about the prompt
Do I really like nature?
Does it truly like me?
What if I sneeze onto this paper?
Does the blank piece of paper made from recycled trees hate me?
Maybe my mind isn’t in the right place
It’s withering with the exhaustion
To even move my pencil
Just thinking about writing about nature
My paper crinkles and rolls itself into a ball
Not wanting anyone to see such a
Ugly creation which its true purpose is for
To snap your fingers and tell me
“Make your art” Do it quickly
Yet you forget the fact that art is never rushed
It’s fed and bathed, loved cared for and leaves its caretaker
But no it must be rushed like a horse
Who needs to be broken in to be ridden upon
Oh I understand, this counts for my grade yet
My mind doesn’t want to write that poem yet
My heart doesn’t want to write it either
It’s funny that. I actually will do the poem.
But in my own blank pages, in my own time.
YOU ARE READING
Poems Of This Teenager 2012-present
PoetryPoems I've done for class, or during of high school. They'll only be updated during the school year or the summer time since I randomly do poems. But I'm proud of them all. If you like poetry or any type of spoken/written word then please Enjoy! Il...
