Why I Write
"What do you want to write?" My teacher asks.
I grab my pen and show her my tasks.
She sees a sheet with words all backwards.
Each letter is crooked and kind of awkward.
I felt so proud though, and it shows
When I display my drawings in rows.
One that I like so much is a knight.
He stands bravely in the dim light--
On the path, entering the big gate.
He's destined to do something great.
I give this paper to her with naive pride.
As me teacher, I view her as my guide.
She smiles sweetly and pats my head.
She says, "You have a whole future ahead."
The words fill me with glee, and I am driven.
One day I'll write tales from this road
And each story will be a heavy load.
Writing becomes the magic of my soul
Because it's a skill I learn to control.
I swore that I will master this skill.
Even if it meant traveling hill to hill.
I pledge my oath from word to word.
My pen becomes my enchanting sword.
All the sprites that I have witness
All the sites that I have progress
All the dried dragons and green goblins
And all bodies with rotten skins
Has shaped, molded, and changed me.
I desired my life to be an epic melody.
I swore that I would shoot for the moon.
I'm bound upward because it's never too soon.
But soon enough, I had ran out of pages.
My soul is in the process of multiple stages.
The magic that I pledge had withered away.
And all my hopes and dreams had gone astray.
And somehow, I am trapped in this dark den
With all I own is this itty bitty pen.
In order be free, I signed a contact.
However I regret this careless act.
Now obligations needs to be done
To the point that writing is no longer fun.
I slaved away in thousands of words
Even though they will never be heard.
My hard work these days don't pay off,
And the stress has degraded me to a sloth.
I hide in this little dark hole
That's eating the flesh of my soul.
The knight in me is now a scared school senior.
I need a guide, a warrior, or a messenger.
It's my last year with my schedule in my hand.
Time is running out, and I don't have a plan.
I'm scared, I'm unprepared, and I couldn't even dare
To declare this fear that rampaging in here.
With the passion that I used to love?
Are they dead with everything up above?
This ordeal has burden these two hands of mine.
Sometimes I wonder will I ever shine.
This little dark den is so cold and dark,
And the inspiration just needs a spark.
Is there someone out there who can help?
I'm crying and scratching with every yelp.
I'm surrounded by those who don't care,
And everyone just sits and stares.
I'm startled and unsure.
I'm scared of my future.
My mind is from far weak,
But my mouth cannot speak.
When my world needs a guided light,
This is when I start to write.
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