Scribbles

Title

By the time this poem gets to you
It will be typed nice and neat
Printed in a pretty font
On white paper
Crisp and clean
But it didn't start that way
It started in a dark and dirty mind,
Only to be birthed painfully on to a notebook page
A page crumpled and creased and invariably tear-stained
Written and rewritten
Erased and dragged out until
It could be typed up
And finally forgotten.