Paperwad

A ball of unsatisfaction rests rigid in my palm

White paper torn and crushed into sharp points

I hate it

I hate what I did with it and the contents I drew on it

I didn't break it, I simply scratched it from my memory

Another worthless drawing not quite up to my standards

The same faced character, which my hand never seems to draw right

Fills the page, in a cluttered yet monotonous manner

blocking out my thoughts and only making me angrier

I shred it apart

I don't want to see it again

It never existed

It's a rough draft I can do with out

What is there to learn that I haven't already learned from it

I tear it apart

After I had done so in my mental critique

Disfiguring it, making the page uglier than it already was

Crumpling it

And eventually disposing it

Leaving it all behind as I head to English class