I stare, full of purpose, at the screen in front of me
A blank page, taunting…tempting.
Do I try this again?
The last few times were horribly unsuccessful
I didn't notice then
But the repercussions hurt.
Never again, I said. It isn't "my thing"
Yet with so many being written to me
And so many others being read
In an English class that puts me to sleep,
From a text-book on an idiot-filled bus
And by the romantic genius I'm going to marry
I think, giving it another shot,
May not be so hard.
Oh who am I kidding?
The words just won't flow
Let alone the rhythm, the rhyme.
So in a few seconds time
These words shall vanish
Into that fast filling recycle bin
And I'll pretend
I never tried my hand
At this god-awful practice
Besides, the screen is starting to blind.