Blank page

Don't look at me like that. Stop mocking me! Oh, the pure whiteness of you, blank page, and your counterparts everywhere...long have you provoked me, challenged me, drove me nuts. Poking me in the gut with the length of your teasing arm, I abhor (no! obsess!) you. It's so bad that entering an establishment wrought with stationary, such as the enemy that is Staples, causes sweaty palms, giddy, guilty delight within the palpitating chest of your admirer. I leave with more blank pages bound in all their narrow-lined, decorative glory, only a new box of pens will do. What will inhabit your rows, oh blank page? Probably nothing, for the intimidation you deliver leaves me breathless, nary a word ever makes it to your stunning display of white. And here, you sit on a computer screen, an accomplice to the original but not at all less of a challenge. You, blank blog page, little editing box with your options and tools. How often have I typed the chatter of thine mind only to erase (with no flaky smudge marks or harsh scratching out) without a trace? So little makes it past inspection to the daunting "save" button. What ever will come of the words forgotten? Alas, blank pages everywhere will never cease to choke me up and shut me down. A writer once, a scared little fool for always.