I write one word
Then delete it
Nothing is good enough
I try another; it doesn’t work
I erase it with frustration
There are so many people more talented than I,
Trust me, I do try
But the well of words within me is dry
And not even a drop can be squeezed out of my mind
I know this phase will pass in a week or two,
But in the meantime, what am I to do?
Teacher is still there, expectant of my work
I hate her, and mother, for cursing me to this torment
I can write nothing, so I just waste my time away tapping random keys
Before I know it, I’ve spent two hours to write half a sentence.
I admit defeat, and read my book while my mother thinks me to be writing.