My Library

Browsing the shelves of knowledge that I have retained in my mind,

I take a moment to reminisce and bring to light what I gathered from every life experience.

 

Love.

I have learned to love through the cold winter,

and to let go of that love by spring.

I have penned about blue eyes and the eyes of those who I dare not to mention,

to keep my fear of losing them at bay.

I have penned about those who I do not love, to get my disdain off my chest,

while I learned not to carry the heavy burden of hate in my heart.

 

Sadness.

I have learned to express what my tears try to convey, even if I will not let go of my pride to let go and cry.

I have penned about a sorrowful ocean so deep something always comes forth to the surface.

I have penned about a loneliness that lurks in around the corner throughout the year, bringing in familiar stretches of time battling with my own mind.

 

Healing.

I have learned to come to peace with myself, and others around me; their actions are their own and my influence will do nothing to change the outcome.

I have penned about my frustrations going on around me, as I am on the receiving end of the problem.

I have penned about my concern about those who I care for,

each drawing their weapons of cryptic one liners and having a battle going on around me as I sit in the middle unaware.

 

And as I browse these knowledgeable shelves, I take time to stop and think.

Poetry is my library.

I search through the genres for what I need the most and read to learn a new lesson.

And like a library, there are no limits to how many times I can check out a poem,

whether I decide to stroll down memory lane or look for signs of my own progress.

There is nothing to stop me from visiting my library frequently or infrequently as I please.

It is mine, and only mine.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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