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Maybe its the writers block talking but i’ve got nothing

All my ideas sound great in my head

Until its pencil to paper

None of it makes sense

I feel allergic to my work

Like i’m rejecting a wordy UID

Burried deep in a jumbled brain of exam putaiao 2.3

I fall into a flow and then choke on reality

Get a job, pass exams all while happy

And just like that creative spark is stamped out

Every art project that's been started

Lays lifeless on an education induced crimescene

Paint splattered carpet

And a desk shaped gravesite

My world is a creative one

I love to write, read and sing

But if its not contributing to my future

What's the point?

Every detail is tailored

If art is your path, then create

If Te Reo is your path, then speak

If music is your path, then sing

But you must never not know what you want to do

And under all that pressure my poetry sits

Being pressed into a shiny gem

And i know one day i’ll write more

School won't be as intense and words will flow freely

Heck, i might even write a book

But for now, it’ll lay dustily under exam review

Until i can look back and think

Maybe it's the poetic flow talking but i’ve got everything