i try to write a poem
but nothing comes to my head
all of my thoughts
my ideas are all dead
i try and try
and just when i might
think that i've won
i've won this fight
the words start to come
but they do not prevail
it's not my best work
or so says her tale
so i come back to my paper
so empty and meek
and my pen so full
so full of black ink
i go back to writing thoughts that aren't there
and writing for people who simply
don't care.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
i can tell. thts ist early. and not your best tuff. but you should make the last line callie o'hare. cause thats how i read it and itll rhyme. (itjust hit me that you, my cousinfriend, is a writer and a tomboy and you like poe an dhorror movies) you are perfect