For the Love of Words

Born into a house that loved art,

Words were never few or far apart

A record player spun on the living room floor,

Pen and chalk art were drawn on a door,

And words swam through my head.

For as long as I can remember,

I was a character-creating inventor

Always someone new,

To add to my fictional retinue 

And at night, I would dream,

That these characters came to me,

And we'd play the night away.

It wasn't until I was ten,

That I began to write about them

Silver, Lotus, Mud, and Thai,

Rueben, Legs, Hestia, and Chai

The words that had always filled my head,

Finally broke out, and onto pages spread

I wrote stories,

I still do

But most of my thought-to-be-eternal works,

Were scrapped before I could work out the quirks

Until I found poetry

Despite the love of words that I'd always possessed,

I had avoided poetry because it made me stressed

"What if I messed up?"

"What if I couldn't do my best?"

I hated the thought of failure,

So I avoided poems for sure

Little did I know,

But poetry was always the way to go

After all,

Who wants to bear their soul in pages of a chapter book?

Poetry is my music,

Poetry is my love

Though I keep most of mine to myself,

My heart is in them all

Poetry is my outlet,

A more permenant one than my books,

It is my greatest discovery, 

And all I had to do was look