I’m not poet,
But dad gum it,
My mom majored in journalism,
My dad writes songs, a musician,
My sister gets praised for her essays,
There’s gotta be writing in our blood,
It should course through my veins,
But dad gum it, dad gum it,
All I have is eraser stains.

So where’s my poetry?
My mind is baffled you see,
If anyone should be able to write decent poetry,
I would think it would be me.

We had to blog for class,
Not a person viewed my site,
In the fourth grade my teacher thought I was so bad at grammar,
She said take this extra workbook home, sit down,
and learn how to write.

It didn’t help, it’s apparent,
I’m helpless like a puppy,
While they’re out contemplating the wind and the sea,
I’m trying to figure out what’s wrong with little ol’ me.
I’m like a lost brainless guppy,
I swim round and round in a little plastic fish bowl,
Trying to think of what to say,
Trying to think of how to get that writing gene,
Somebody must’ve stole.

My lines have no rhyme scheme,
Or maybe they accidently do,
My paragraphs are all different lengths,
Wait paragraph is probably the wrong term,
My terminology is even messed up too.

They’re probably all laughing,
Thinking poor Amy,
With her rotten writing,
To be able to hang something on the fridge,
Would just make her feel all proud and mighty.

Maybe someday I’ll have an insightful moment,
It’ll come to my mind like it was always present,
A gift that was just waiting to be unwrapped,
Until then, I’ll keep waiting, wandering, and hoping,
While my family keeps writing,
and I’m in the corner… awkwardly moping.