The Pen moves,

The Paper takes the ink.

Silence,

But the scratching makes me think.

The air is thick with the smell of nervous thoughts,

Rushed paragraphs,

Crossed out and redone.

Will this be good enough?

Will I get an A?

She said to be original,

But are my thoughts okay?

The timer stops,

The pen drops,

And at the end of it all,

A rubric.