Roses are red,
But violets aren't blue
And in about twelve hours this poem is due.
So I ponder and think,
And hope and pray
That the words I need will come to stay.
But my mind says no,
Your writing sucks, start again
Or better yet, don't even bother to begin.
It tells me to give up,
That my words aren't "right"
Stop now, your verse is weak-they'll hate it on sight.
Instead of stopping, my pen keeps going
And the ink flows on
For it knows I have something worth showing,
So girl, write on.