By Alec Doyle
When I write essays, they always feel bland.
Just following a rubric, no ideas to expand.
When they are assigned, I begin to stall.
Time will pass, no progress at all.
But I am bound,
With no way around,
And so I only have you to call.
And yet still, time continues to seep.
I feel powerless, as my work will heap.
Poems like this are all I can show.
They hold my truth, my thoughts, although,
It is no use,
There is no excuse,
And nowhere left to go.
ECC Cornerstone 