Furiously scribbling across the page;
My pen does little to resist.
What am I doing, writing this poem
At 1 am?
I have school tomorrow.
"Why are you still awake?"
Well, you see, it's just not as simple
As all that.
There are too many possibilities, ideas, expressions
(Of course I forgive you, but could it hurt to wait until morning?)
But I cannot explain this
To someone who has never before been driven to create something.
You'll just think I'm being
So I simply say,
Close my notebook
And get back in bed
Until you are gone.
Because it's not my fault I'm awake.
The writer in me won't leave me alone.