The possible writings
that could potentially flow
through the tip of my pencil,
Stop at this desk.
I’ve figured it out.
When I write,
I need to be alone.

I cant be surrounded by a boy
That vigorously writes,
Erases,
And mumbles “f***” under his breath.

I cant be surrounded by a girl
Who looks up.
I feel as if her eyes watch me as I write.
She is the hawk
I am her prey.
I feel as if she’s judging my work.
Because we both know,
Her writing is better than mine.
Because we both know,
I don’t know the difference
Between alliteration and assonance.
Because we both know,
I couldn’t write a metaphor
To save my life.

The pressure is on.

If I were alone,
I could produce a real poem.
Not a bunch of words,
That don’t make sense.
One sentence on every line.
This isn’t even a poem.