A fairly bright screen proposed to me a question I’ve asked myself for days,
“Who Is the True You” it said, and I thought with a starry eyed gaze.
When given proper thought I don’t really know my place.
I look to my future and see broken glass and a smothered haze.
I know I’ll soon get old and buried in a closed wooden shelf,
So why not find a way to express myself.
As a kid I never enjoyed poetry.
I found it tedious and scolded it unknowingly,
But now I can’t seem to let go of this beautiful literate tapestry,
And through the power of writing I plan on enjoying my haven as a sort of majesty.
If I had thrown away my thoughts where would I have been in a year?
My ideas frozen stuck, like the impact of headlights on a wide eyed deer.
So when all is said and all is done,
I guess I’ll be a poet, this should be fun.