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.