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The Writing Proficany Exam
July 28, 2011
This is bland and washed out.
I've churned it in the bottom of my mouth for hours on end.
I've spat it out on top of my desk and stared in disgust.
This saliva soaked was of paper decides for us weather or not we are "proficient" writers.
The faulty words are empty and grey, meaningless, written by the numb-skulls of this generation.
They flake and chip away as I scrape my head against a cheese grater.
The prompt does not prompt me to write.
© Shelby Noble, Vancouver, WA
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