By Hannah Schoen

There is a beautiful
In my head.
It’s an idea I can barely
Express through words,
But I have to write it down.
I pick up a smooth yellow
And a small,
Empty notebook.
I intend to
The whole thing.
My idea flows onto the paper,
Words germinating
Faster than I can write,
This is what we live for.
Ideas so magnificent
Don’t happen to just
Writing so fast
And pressing so hard,
I almost rip the paper.
Finally, my idea is finished.
You can barely read
My quick scribbles
On the notebook,
But I can.
This beautiful,
Scrumptious idea.
Nothing in this world
Could make me beam brighter
Than this idea.
And writing it all down,
Quick and messy and lovely,
All in a small, now full notebook,
I love the feeling of writing
On cold paper,
With a pencil in your hand,
It feels like you have
All the power
In the observable universe
And beyond
In your hands.
That feeling of accomplishment
Weaved into you like
The most complicated basket.
You feel like you have
hundreds of pounds
Lifted off your shoulders,
And now you are free
To flip like a gymnast.
And all it takes
Is two small objects
To make you