It was a normal Friday night. I am sitting at my room’s desk with my computer in front of me trying to find the perfect plot for the poem I am trying to write for Ms. Luckcart. I write poems about phantoms, ghosts, and people coming back to life but none of them catch on very well. The anger in my soul grew as I could not find the perfect plot to a story. I clenched the warm screen of my computer and threatened to break it. I relaxed my hands and sat in my seat still without my plot. I screamed at my computer and demanded that my plot would cross my mind. Then It came to me, I shall write about my very experience that I had while writing my poem. What was once a pile of rot with no plot became a poem called “Once a Pile of Rot.
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