Blank.

In my room. On my bed. Staring at the cream wall with the slight chip in the paint that reminded me of an incision given by a doctor with butter fingers.

That's where it began. 

When 14 year old me realized that she was she black sheep of the family when it came to English and writing.

Momma published a book of poetry. 10 points for Mom.

And Brother wanted to major in sports journalism. 15 points for the bro. 

Meanwhile I'm sitting on my bed wondering if SparkNotes can get me at least a 60 on the Tale of Two Cities test.

....which it does by the way. But that's besides the point.

I was tired of being uninterested in the curriculm we do in English. 

I mean what's the point of reading books that don't interest me? Or trying to decipher what this writer meant by saying "The sky is blue"?

Some things have a hidden message and others don't. 

 Boom.

That right there. Two lines above this one. 

That's what I found in poetry. 

That's where I found my love in poetry. 

"Hidden messages" can be as obvious as they come--

But only to me.

Only to 

ME. 

Because it's the words that I threw up on the paper.

It's the mess that I cleaned up with the pen.

Touching what was once something other than lines on a white sheet

If there are lines at all. Because there doesn't have to be 

And that's the way you do it. 

You just do. 

Some might read this and say "what is she talking about?"

And that's why I love what poetry is and does for me.

It allows me to express...

To be myself .

And things that I don't want to be. And things I've never dreamed of being--

But I am. 

Because poetry gives me free reign over what I can do. 

That's how poetry came to be part of me.

The me some don't understand. 

No longer am I the black sheep.

Now I am apart of the herd.

 

Meanwhile I'm sitting in English wondering what's for lunch today....

This poem is about: 
Me

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