Loose-Leaf

I sit surrounded by four unmarked walls,

And stare straight forward as though in great thought.

My pencil rises and confidence falls,

To search for print I wished could be well bought.

I’m not deep, shallow as a kiddy pool.

Not expecting to scribe a piece of fame.

Faking it now may prove a useful tool,

For when I speak, I yet to find much shame.

So write words I will, if to write I must,

But let my voice carry all the credit.

  For one day my pencil will be left dust,

And when void words spread feel free to edit.

As no creative thought shall come to me,

Than on this page that’s how it is to be.