The black ebony slid across the blank white sheet
Marking, slowly, gentle pressure
An idea in mind
Supposedly able to do anything.
Holding the long wooden stick softly
Slowly, it scratched across the paper
It’s supposed to be pretty, supposed to be right.
Correctly molded it can be anything.
As an eager child it sketches, tries.
Its wrong, it doesn’t look right.
Eraser jabbed hard into the paper.
Erasing the mistakes.
Leaving a trail of screwed up picture that used to be something…
Used to be something that wasn’t right.
The hard piece clenched between cold fingers
Dirty eraser shavings all over, blank sheet scuffed.
It was so blank, so pure, white.
Now it’s covered with bad ideas
That never went anywhere, never did anything right.
Now it’s impure, unfit,
Can’t start over.
And now there is nothing
But a dirty piece of paper, and a pencil.
©Kaysha Riggs 2010