By Sophia S.

I Don’t Want To Write

I heard a poem about not knowing what to write.

Me not knowing what to write? That doesn’t seem right.

I think I just don’t want to.

Honestly, I wonder what this poem is turning into. The worst part about my situation is that I need to write four poems.

After four weeks I still need three more.

I ask for help not knowing what to do.

I kinda wish I knew.

Sometimes my rhymes are not as great.

Maybe I started this just a little late,

Maybe that’s okay.

I want this to be good because it’s going on display.

I didn’t know how to start this and now I don’t know how to stop it.

I wish the poem was like a door and I could just lock it.

Tea

At home your ginger smell fills the room

A tart and spice taste is what people assume

Your amazing flavors were forced to be tasted

Now your flavor is not wasted

I had so much time in the morning

And your taste was certainly warming

As I write this I finish your last drop

And now this poem has come to a stop.

Flowers

Blueish purple, but that’s all people see

But your colors are so free

No one looks closely to see, pink and maroon underneath

You are beautiful and certainly not cheap

I see your colors, as I drive by

And you are not shy

I see so many of you

But late March is where you bloom

I see you in fields with other flowers

But your color overpowers

I think it’s time to reveal the beautiful flower

Bluebonnet, the Texas flower.

Sophia S. is a Level 2 student who loves to cosplay and dance.

Publishing work by students at Alpha, a K-12 school in Austin, TX. Learn more at www.go-alpha.org.