Blank Sheets of Paper is where Poetry is Born

My third-grade teacher had once said that all we feel is what we know, and you should avoid those who know nothing and those who know everything.

My middle school friend taught me that when someone is beating you down that you should be flattered, they see you as a threat.

No one has ever told me where the bathroom is, my mom told me weaker willed people asked for directions to bathrooms.

I have never cried in public, my dad said that if I do people will know I am pathetic and no longer respect me.

I raise my voice a lot because my siblings made sure to teach me that quiet people are never listened to.

My ex-boyfriends brainwashed me to thinking that I was incapable of doing anything without someone’s help.

Years of following the words of everyone around me, words from people who are supposed to teach me and help me.

Listening to other’s is truly my worst fault, I became a devote follower to the religion of other’s gods.

Other’s words have made me rely on so many things other than myself.

Other’s thoughts have made me sad, scared, confused, and pessimistic.

It wasn’t until I smiled at a blank sheet of paper in front of me. It wasn’t until I found solace in a new document being pulled up. When the noises around me faded and words spewed out of my, it was then that I had found myself. Suddenly, I became an optimistic drifter between faiths. Suddenly, it didn’t matter if the words made sense. Suddenly, no one was in control of what I was thinking. Suddenly, I was me.