I’ve used all my ideas and now have nothing to write about,
My head is blank and empty with no idea I can start with.
Not a letter,
Or A word,
A sentence,
Stanza,
Or Paragraph.
The paper in front of me is blank and empty,
With no mark of the new pink rectangle eraser or the sharpened pencil in my hand.
And then,
As if it was waiting patiently,
The paper starts to flutter from the cool outside breeze from the open window,
Giving me an idea,
To write about finally.
The blank page turns into whatever my brain comes up with
As if the pencil was directly connected.
And it seems to have life.
The pictures and words fill up the page
Like a tub full of water rapidly coming out the nozzle.
Eraser marks everywhere,
From changing minds, saying, “I think this will sound better.”
The many drafts and papers on my floor,
Missing the full trash can by millimeters.
The day is over,
And I think I am done.
The blank page,
Turns into life and fun.