I’m here trying to write a spoken word poem
My mind rambles through a thousand ideas 
I could write about
How it felt to be kid
I could write about the struggles of high school
I could write about how I fear for the future
I could even write about the struggle of always being put in the background
But instead I sit here
staring at my paper
Hoping that the wheel of ideas will stop spinning
Hoping I’ll find my way out of the treacherous maze of thoughts
Hoping my conscious will stop saying
That's not a good idea
But instead I sit here
staring at my paper
Eyes bulged ready to pop like balloons
with too much air
I hold my shaking hands to my head
as if trying to an egg from breaking
I let out huge sigh
that sweeps through the room
Like an injured animal calling for help
And sure enough my call is answered 
Then suddenly
The wheel of ideas slows down
The maze of thought isn’t so treacherous
And I finally say to myself
That’s a good idea