Maybe if I scribble long enough
These random lines of pencil lead
Will miraculously form words
And change the world
Or my world anyway

Maybe theyíll relieve the stress
Of not being able to express myself
Not being able to say
What it is I want to say
Simply because I donít know
What it is I want to say
And scribbling
And scribbling
Until I decide
Because I know I want to say something

Waiting for inspiration to hit
Never works
Because it wonít hit
Until you stop waiting
And then you wonít have paper or a pencil
So, oh well

Maybe poetry was never meant to be put on paper