Mr. Fear said,
“Look for your feelings inside yourself,
But don’t plagiarize from a bookshelf.”
I wonder if I can.
I suck at writing.
It’s almost like I’m fighting
myself. I scribble and doodle
But all I can make is a poodle.
In this room full of gloom
With the heater’s boom.
I try to write a decent poem
But one day I’ll show em’
That I can write a decent poem too!
English isn’t my strongest subject.
When I’m assigned a poem I object.
I say, “Mr. Fear I can’t write a poem, I can’t do it.”
Come on Alex there’s nothing to it.
I think to myself, what’s a good poem that will give a thrill
But it’s this whole page I need to fill
Tic toc on the clock
Time’s flying away like birds of a flock.
I ponder, hey I like golf, fishing, and the whole jamboree
No I can’t do it, I can’t write, maybe I’ll flee
From this dull classroom that confines me.
Great! I’m out of rhyming verse
What could get worse?
I have to restart from line 4
Who’s that coming through the door?
AAAHHH! I’m getting distracted
I have some ideas, but they’ve retracted.
This paper is due at the end of the class
Maybe I’ll tell my teacher to kiss my…oh no my glass!
The thirst-quenching water spilled all over the floor
It reminds me of my messy poem that’s written so poor.
5 minutes! I looked at the clock, it’s a quarter to nine
And this poem’s not fine.
I slop together some words onto the page
This stupid poem gave me such rage
I hoped for myself the best of luck
Because for that poem I did not give a, hey look a duck!
I came into class the next day and the weather was all bright and sunny
But I knew this grade I’m about to get was not going to be funny
I made that poem with all my must
“Schwartz, come up here you got an A+.”
“What!?” I said, I couldn’t believe what I heard
Just the thought of me getting an A+ was so absurd.
I realized what feelings my teacher had learned about me
And it was that I sucked a poetry.