untitled- by Amelia

The teacher said
Write a poem,
And if it comes out of you
It will be true

A poem's a story
That much I know.
Can you write a story
When you can barely see the page?

It's hard for me
to write poetry,
Because instead of my words,
I see
What the page could be.

It could be music
flowing from a lone
saxophone
drifting away in
crisp,
night,
air.

It could be
swirling, twirling colors,
flying off a
beautiful picture.

It could be
to the lone lovers crush,
all thoughts
spilled out on a page.

It could be
anything,
and words not mine
crush out
my own.

So I'm sorry, Mr. Teacher
I just cannot write
Any poem that's really  mine
Ever.
Let alone
Tonight.