I sit at my desk cluttered with hopes and lost dreams
Pencils suffocate under the death grip of my calloused palm
(courtesy of the monkey-bars)
Writing furiously on a sheet of recycled lined paper
(It's the best kind)
My mind is so full of words they are practically shooting out of my ears.
I am stuck in a love affair.
(No, silly not with a boy)
With Words
I write them without permission
I write them with conviction
(Sometimes I even make them rhyme)
I write because my mind is a churning vortex of ideas
If I didn't write then my head would swell up
(Very unnatractive)
I write because I love it
(Do I really need a reason?)