Poetry Pens


She was born
A few countries away from Rome,
Far from the Mile high state
She now calls her home.
With a young married couple
Traveling hours on a plane
She was adopted in the year 2000
And given a different name.
Coming to her new house
She had a love for climbing trees.
She enjoyed life’s little moments,
They came as they pleased.

With a loud family of six,
There was always time for fun-
Skiing, hiking, and camping-
With occasional burns from the sun.
She had two brothers, one sister,
But no pets to be found.
Her siblings loved to wrestle,
They would tackle her to the ground
Who doesn’t love a little family bonding?
They meant the world to her.
They meant the world to her,
Until something stopped corresponding.

More time passed
And her siblings moved out.
She would go to school
With so much self-doubt.
It was a time of struggle
But ended totally
When she discovered her talent
To naturally write poetry.

She began to think
Until her thoughts would rhyme
And that’s how it was created:
The words for every line.
The smallest things
Or the tune of an old song
Led her to grip the pencil
To write a poem that was too long.
But that’s the beauty that she later discovered:
This random talent got her through,
And even helped her recover.

She hasn’t stopped writing
She’s a poet undercover.
No one knew she could rhyme like this,
Not even her own mother!
Oh, wait… oops, I told a lie,
Some of that’s not true
Because her best friend read her poetry.
She was the only one who knew.
Well, now I must be a liar
I’ve committed a sin
But I can’t blow her cover!
People might turn her in.

Now you know
That poetry is my passion
It has been for nearly
Six years in action.
My life has been mellow
And I love all my friends,
I even love my crazy family
I love everything when I have my poetry pens.

Imperfect Facade


Do you want to know what’s eating me alive?
It’s all these thoughts I bottle up inside.
My mind continues to recite this unspoken soliloquy.
It plays in my head, non-stop, repeatedly.
These are some of the lines:

“I may be everything you wanted but I could never be everything you needed. Defeated is all I’ll ever be in my abandoned memory. To you, I applaud your hypocrisy, for it was much more deceptive than I remember. But what right have I got to state that claim when I suffer from memory loss and numbing pain. You put on this facade so often, I can’t even remember who you used to be. To me, you were imperfectly pure. But I can’t find that in you anymore.”

You stabbed me so hard,
I nearly fell through the floor.
But you held your hand out to catch me,
you confused me once more.
How much longer
do we have to live like this?
That’s all I want to know.