In my eighteen years of livingI’ve been taught the most valuable lessonPoetry has a soulIt’s nowhere near as dark as coalIt guided me toward self acceptanceSomething my shell of a father never couldMaybe it’s because he left when I was twoThat he could never kept me from feeling blueHe was never ready to open his heartShow anyone his newfound vulnerabilityBut poetry never cowers in the face of emotionsIt explores every inch of the commotionPoetry taught me to never mistake anything as simpleEverything in existence can and should be expanded upon No more wife and kids, seemingly simple independence A true encapsulated explanation of his lack of attendancePerhaps the most compelling lesson of poetry is With pencil in hand, you can connect with what you never heard your heart crying out for Sixteen separate poetic drabbles inside birthday cards I findAnd I realize that after sixteen years, I no longer mind