What poetry means to me? That’s what you ask?
Tis a question I can’t answer so fast
To respond, my thoughts have to go way back
It starts in 7th grade, a time and place I felt misunderstood
A newbie in my school, and I wasn’t considered cool.
My thoughts would spew from my ears
Because the words refused to defuse from my mouth
Was scared to tell others my feeling, so the journal is where it all came out
My fears, my desires, my pain, my dreams
They all came from the sweat of my hands, the ink of my pen,
all on to the paper to create a beautiful scene
Rhymes in the songs and the love letters to the crushes
…Even though those lovers always crushed those letters,
It’s always been nice to release my thoughts and talk about whatever
Nowadays, I’ve kinda strayed away from the countless hours I spent on each page
The desire to write has slowly faded away
But I know when my heart is torn, because love often times is so cruel,
I know poetry will come in for surgery, prepared, with all the appropriate tools.