Unfinished Poem by Melissa Black

Years of nine out of ten finally got the best of me.
For weeks I lay in bed tossing in my sleep, dying to catch my breath.
So many wasted days...
To make the teacher proud of the writer I had to pretend to be.

Over and over,
I was desperately searching to find the right terms,
drowning in my ocean of mediocre ideas.
Can you still see the heart in me; does anyone but you see?

I strive; unveiling the sheet of dust, uncovering my secret passion inside.
I was trying to unearth the perfect words.
Watching the moments slip through like ocean sand.
I want to believe I can still be good enough for society.

But I am only Shakespeare's half-witted sister, Poe's distant cousin.
How could I have finished something my heart wasn't into?