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

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