To write she was told and such she was taught
She was handed the paper
And behind her eyes started storm clouds of thought
She gripped her translator in sweaty hand
And on her dry lips she whispered a plan
The scribbling urge made her foot tap
Word after word should’ve been a snap!
Her fingers twirled her invading hair
Her ideas would be great!
To criticize not a soul would dare!
In graphite they’d see;
The masterpiece to be!
With stars, and colors, and sparks
And bursts of thoughtful remarks,
And dreams, and wishes, and love
A twist of hate or a bit of debate
She’d be flying!
A writing dove!
She sat there smiling eyes fixed on the page
Knowing her readers would soon be engaged
She wrote a word
Erased it; made it a phrase
Soon then the white became a sentences maze
Satisfied she leaned back in her seat
Reading it back would be surely a treat!
The tapping in her foot had seized
Her adrenaline was finished and pleased
And as words she hardly recognized
Began to flow across her eyes
Her smile faded
She sat back up
Was this the beauty?
The masterpiece?
In her brain it couldn’t have been the same
She crinkled the paper
Let out a huff of a sigh
The only compliment she’d get
Would be pity and a lie!
So, she held on to her pencil tight
And felt the lightning start to strike
She once again had a scribbling hand
While on her dry lips
She whispered;
A brand new plan