In a creative writing class I did enroll,
My brain bursting with ideas, oh so bold!
But alas, as soon I sat in my seat,
My pen refused to move, and my ideas incomplete
The professor’s voice was soothing and calm,
But my creativity was like a ticking time bomb
Unwrapping to strangers and my mind was blank,
My ideas in fear just sank.
The class discussed plot, theme, and style,
But my thoughts were all jumbled, mile by mile.
I tried to force the words onto the page,
But they refused to flow, no matter the rage.
Finally, I turned in my essay where I talk about my life,
Hoping the professor wouldn’t ask me to read it out loud.
But I had to read it, so I melted like butter in contact with a hot knife
After I finished it looked like I impressed the crowd
I’ll continue to write, despite my fear,
And hope that my ideas will someday be clear.
In this creative writing class, it’s not just for the grade,
But the weaknesses and memories, to be written and displayed.
