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.


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.


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