You are the author of your own life. You started writing in pencil, able to erase whatever you wanted. There were a couple of smudge marks left on the paper and the side of your hand. Sometimes you ripped the page when you tried to erase uncaringly. But as you got older, you wrote in pen. The ink still smeared, making it messy and unclear to read. There were stories you wish you could erase but you could only scribble them out. They aren’t legible anymore, but they are still there. They will always be there, indented in the page.
Tag: Writing
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.
Tiger's Daydream 