Ticking through seconds
the clock mocks
my mind grinding past duds,
discarding one good idea after another.
Pens scratch.
Keys clack.
Pages Flip,
filling with compelling sufficiencies.
The girl across from me is writing
too much. I glare at her.
Label her a suck up to ease my mind.
I bet it’s bad whatever she’s writing.
I’m a thinker.
I’m busy.
I’m sleep-deprived.
Inspiration hasn’t struck.
The second-hand screams,
reminding me of extra-long blocks
two hours
before I can escape into the safety
of other priorities.
I shift, uncomfortable, forced to sit and examine my shortcomings.
Mediocrity and bad work habits
a poem due
about yesterday
I’m scared
to tarnish a perfect mark
even a perfect zero over zero
Why did I write better poems last year
when all I’ve got now are scribbles?
How did I play harder piano pieces
when I was nine than I do now?
When did I get so damn scared of failure?
Why do I care so much?
So set on perfection I can’t commit
and here I sit.
Writing about my feelings.
Pathetic.
What I need is an idea.
An ok idea.
Any idea.
Why can’t I—
Charlotte Moon is a Vancouver based writer who has published fiction in the Tricities News. She enjoys the seasons, making music, and the rush of adrenaline induced from being chased by Canadian wildlife.