For the Love of Poetry

Eighth grade was a rememberable year

Two full weeks of nothing but poetry

Allowed to express secret tears

No longer did I find myself moppy

Words came out

I was expressed

If I wanted to I could pout

Nothing seemed like a real pest

Once I no longer had to continue

My passion kept growing 

Bad attitudes discontinued 

I'd write about anything even the wind blowing

As years passed my talent grew

I could write anything for a long time

With poetry I couldn't feel quite so blue

If I stopped writing it would be a crime