It's a harsh burn, inspiration. That despicable, clawing feeling at the root of your being, You're there, just trying to get something down, Anything. It's never just right. It's always a finger, a hair, a sliver away. Or maybe more, but it's never there. It's never just right. Baby Bear, how did you do it? Goldilocks, you lucky *****, You found it, and stole it. Inspiration, I guess, comes from the right chair, The right porridge, the right bed. Then, a swift infallible blow to the right side of the head. Oh! Right in the creativity! Inspiration, Though you try to force these words to be something that they can't be, Make them do something they shouldn't, While English speakers ruin the language, Inspiration ruins it further. It's never just right.