The Doodler

You hand me a sheet of paper;
while others may see words on white
I see an easel.
A drawing board full of nooks and crannies,
vast spaces of blankness
ripe for my crusade of doodling.
Where staunch whiteness once stood
sketches arise in its stead.
The white walls fall to my pencil
as I draw stick figures and tanks,
monsters and cubes.

Doodling is my passion
and I fiercely defend it.
With my pen as my weapon
I slowly overrun the page.
Five pointed stars cover titles
and ninjas hide behind stanzas;
dragons roar at the margins
where a cowering knight trembles.
It's a way to express myself
my inner creations.
Others may have a plain, boring page.
But I,
the Doodler,
have a canvas.