My days flutter and fly,

Much as the wondrous world,

Though I look up at the sky,

I still wait for my meaning to unfurl.

 

Each day I would lie and wait and watch the birds,

As they liked to fly, fly and fly about the clouds,

Filled with envy, yet I was proud,

Because these beings had found their meaning is this,

And as I watched I recited these words,

"All beings have purpose,

No beings are worthless."

 

And as I thought these words I realized,

Rhythm and missed mindful meaning within my own muttered words,

And as I continued to go on,

It began to make its own sweet song,

One whose tempo and time give it size,

And then I knew this is where my heart was meant to be tied.

 

I began to write and write with paper and pencil always close by,

But noticed myself getting slower as time would fly,

Three days, then three weeks, and three months and on,

It finally came to me my creativity had gone,

Yet still I wrote and wrote and never stopped,

Until my writers block had finally popped.

 

Out it came the very next day,

Words and words and words galore,

Every single word that said what I had always wanted to say,

My words kept going, flowing, almost as if blowing themselves onto the page,

Saying what this quiet guy had to say and more,

It told me my feelings and let others know my heart,

It was so pure and true, uncorrupted and with no cage,

I began to write more with ease,

And I could never stop once I had made my start.

 

You ask why I write these "things", these "words", these "rhymes",

I will tell you what I tell others every time:

"If you had a life where all you knew,

Was what other people always thought of you,

Quiet and alone, with shadows as company,

Always writing, studying, just to get by,

If you were like me, then you would pick one choice of many:

To let the words flow onto the page and show others the path I now fly."

I now join the birds, by  the clouds in the sky,

Flying with joy for fun,

Though many don't understand how I can stand to write or understand these arts,

There are still those who love me truly who understand:

It has simply become one of my favorite parts.

 

I know I'm not the best,

But I still try as much as the rest,

Because these emotions are my passion,

The words are my unsaid whole,

The meanings, my ever-strong beliefs,

These things I write may not have much action,

But they contain a part of me I mean to make known,

Not for the spotlight, however,

I dread the attention and try to keep it at bay,

But to show others who I am,

To make new friends and loved ones who care what I have to say,

And to write for fun, joy and laughs is even better,

Because a smile is always worth it in the end.