I stood by the river
Gazing at the flowing water in one direction
I sigh and groan with torment
One question that had left me with no understanding of myself
I ask myself one question now and then;
Was I ever a writer?
Tears flood on my cheeks as I glance at my crap writings
Written pieces without flavour,
No additives to make my writings worth being read
I hold my pen attempting to write but nothing shoots on my skull
I clench my teeth in total anger
I scrub my head until it is painful
I write love letters to a girl I have a crush on
A response comes back which tore my heart apart
“You need private and creative English classes my brother.”
I want to flee but I have cold feet.
I try the following day to write
As I hold my pen, I am shaking like a leaf
What is wrong with me? I ask myself.
I give up at same time, cursing myself too much.
I tried and failed.
That’s why I never write.
I seek for the English goddess for assistance
What is the first step in writing a creative piece?