sometimes, i just sit, waiting for inspiration to hit me. staring down at a blank paper, willing it to give me a clue. the pen in my hand twitches, the inside of my brain itches, and my heart sighs, if it only knew.
and the paper still sitting leisurely on the desk, mocking my intent and basking in its nakedness, smirks.
the thoughts in my head swirl aimlessly, as i try to find rhymes and try to make sure they work.
a song drifts into my head as i start jotting down random lyrics.
i notice overlooked nuances and previously ignored gimmicks.
my brainwaves float away and my paper soon forgotten on the desk underneath the mess.
i think of things not on my mind and silently admit things, aloud i would not confess.
i envision that particular boy who shouldn't be on my mind
as i think that his girlfriends face appears behind.
i sadly smile and shake my head, shame on me for my thought.
as long as my thoughts are silent though, i'll thankfully never get caught.
away from the guilt, my daydream strolled.
detached from my mind, enraptured, i watched my sub conscience unfold.
i saw my musings come to life, vivacious, colorful and dancing.
i saw the life that i would lead, successful, carefree and prancing.
i wouldn't be docile or shy, i'd be headstrong yet well regarded.
i'd have all that i want, be confident and unguarded.
maybe i'll have a house, and it will have a tower,
and a beautiful green garden with lovely wild flowers.
creepers creeping the walls, covering the stone defenses.
a little forest instead of a backyard, enclosed by moats or trenches.
a fairytales starts to write itself out, starting in the forest, by a lake.
a happy mist lifts from it, surrounded by trees, forest animals, particularly a snake.
the snake suspiciously slithers from willow to willow.
its purposeful movement makes the sense of dread grow.
its destination, a lovely woman on the other end of the lake, washing her clothes.
wait, why a woman, this sexist sort of cliché is something i loathe.
so at the end of the lake waits a beautiful and lonesome man,
washing his blood-soaked clothes the best that he can.
after a nasty fight with his very own brother,
he ran away from home to look for his estranged and exiled mother.
apparently his mother had indulged in an affair.
and openly announced to to all with pride and flair.
and as the man tended to his wounds, the snake etched closer.
the man noticed his cold blooded companion and got a little marroser.
and as he was taught, he stood absolutely still and waited for it to pass.
the closer it got, he worked up a sweat and muttered something rather crass.
the snake however, surprising us all, opened its mouth and spoke.
the man himself, was so shocked, his silence never broke.
the snake had questioned why he bled, not a strange thing to ask.
but got no reply, shook his head and sighed, and continued on his nightly task.
the man he turned around, dumbfounded, but asked for help and directions,
the snake obliged, he hissed and tried, to explain in exact perfection.
then slithered along to do his duty, an act he took to be serious.
to patrol the grounds, and ask around, and report all comings and goings to his mistress.
his mistress seemed please, with this bit of news, it was something she anxiously awaited.
alone in her castle, she had been alone in this curse one had created .
a man she craved who was strong and brave, to get her out of her tower.
hoping he would find her, free her, she started to count the hours.
what happens next, i begin to ponder as i try and think of a storyline.
defeated and confused, i look for inspiration, inspiration declines.
i got so far on thought alone as i let my self wander.
and tried to remember what i had so far and retrace how i did ponder.
how did i reach a fairytale from the solemn essay i had to write.
how did i think of all these things far into the night.
how was i so foolish to loose my focus, my self scolding causing sorrow.
i panicked a little, with no sleep how would i give my exam tomorrow?
forget the fairytale, forget my house and forget that lovely boy.
forget the pristine white paper, still jeering at me, and its devious little ploy.
to haze me with its embossing demeanor and make me insecure.
wait, i must be delirious, its 3 am, what am i fighting with a paper for?
