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.