The screech of the lead. The feel that travels up and back
down my arm. Pondering. Waiting. No thoughts ever come
but I want them to. Why? Why can’t I just occupy my mind? In
the back of my thoughts it repeats. Write! I scribble. I dapple.
I twist and I turn again. Pondering. Waiting. The thrill
comes again, but no, not on those blue lines. On the bare flesh.
Emotions, memories, feelings, songs and sorrow build up. Rush at me. And yet I sit there. Pondering. Waiting. I pick up my tool
and the one thought that screams out, write! I do. The ink
slides on, up and down, side to side. Finish. Masterpiece.
Beautiful. Meaningful.

by Taylor, 9th Grade

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