The thoughts hovering, desk full of scattered...

The thoughts hovering, desk full of scattered page,
Waiting for us to be filled in, happily or with rage.
People take me to be lazy, "Doesn't she have time to clean?"
The dirt around is just too much to be seen.
Yet we ignore, even in my sleep, I write,
About almost everything I find in sight
I just too boring to write about,
and with a big sad mouth
I move out, In search of something
something which deserves to be written about.