I hear the rustling of papers,
The pens making music as it taps on them,
And the little squeaks of chairs
As it moves against the tile floor…

I see the frustration of the students,
As they write their poems,
The annoyed look as they scribble
Words,
Phrases,
And sentences out.
Some seem to stare blankly at the wall
Wondering what they could write next…

I feel the struggle,
The frustration of stress.
Thinking things,
About what’s going to happen next.
Feelings of fear overwhelms,
Overpowers me,
Clouding my mind,
Making it hard to think.
Feelings of failure,
Scratches at my heart,
Making it wounded and sore…

I smell the heat of the day,
Escaping the classroom,
As a warm tender breeze enters in.
The smell of fresh grass,
Softly scents the room.
And the smell of fresh ink
Of my pen lifts up into
My nose as I write this poem…