That I don't know
                                             that you know             how to write
                                       That I know                          a decent poem.  
                                    if you know                                 I don't know
                                 I don't know                                           if you know       
                                                                                       That I try really hard
                      Wonderings                                                              to express my
                                                                                                                                         feelings in                                                      words        
                                                                                              of ink and graphite
                                                                                                  But when I see
                                                                                      the fresh white paper
                                                                                                 Neatly lined and
                                                                                       a bit crumpled in the
                                                                                                 corners
                                                                                            My mind
                                                                                  once full of ideas
                                                                              and thoughts
                                                                            becomes a blank slate
                                                                          Just like the paper
                                             Before
                                        I sketch, I erase
    I scribble, I cross out
           Every scratch of my pencil
  Is a scratch on my head
    If only there was
     a way to spill out
        all my emotions
and watch them
        assemble into words
       Beautiful, meaningful
       words
           of anger and joy
         success and failure
     So that the elusive essence
of my heart's story
      is finally captured between
the light blue lines,
           gleaming vividly on
       the crumpled white paper.




        Do you know?