Why I Write

Once upon a time,

Not too long ago,

There lived a happy little girl,

Without a care in the world.

She was sweet but shy,

A curse she soon realized,

As the ones she once called friends,

No longer stood by.

As she passed from days of crayons and glue,

To the place of transition,

To Middle School,

She was caught in the crossfires

Of those trying to prove they were cool,

By cutting her out and

Making her a fool,

Not noticing the haunted look in her eyes,

As she faced her own demons inside,

That always tried to control her mind.

The years passed slowly and painfully,

The ignorance of peers

And darkness lurking in her mind,

Left that once happy and sweet little girl,

A mess of bitterness and tears.

She had to put up a mask,

And hide what she felt.

But what good is a mask

That is cracked?

Enter, High School,

The supposed best time

Of your life,

That’s what people say.

But, for that little girl,

It was the worst in the world.

Invisible and forgotten,

Kids cruel and snide,

Made that little girl just want

To curl up and die.

Then, one day, everything changed,

In English class, sitting at her desk,

The teacher told them about

Their next task.

Poetry, they were to write,

Original and unique,

and all on their own.

As paper was passed around,

The little girl wondered what she would write.

At  home that night,

The girl sat at her desk, pondering away,

About what to write, when it started to rain.

The girl looked out her window,

Water pounding down onto the earth,

When suddenly, inspiration bounded forth.

As it rained, that broken girl became absorbed

In her very first poem, and her darkness fled.

In that very moment, she began to mend.

The next day at school, in English Class,

The girl was anxious and scared,

Hoping her poem was good enough,

But still sat  guarded and prepared.

When her teacher asked her to read her poem,

The girl was shocked.

But, nevertheless, she went up,

and stood before her class,

Gathering up her courage,

And read her poem to the mass.

When she finished,

No one said a word.

The girl stood nervous,

Heart ready to tear in two,

When suddenly, someone

Began to clap,

Then another, and another,

Until the entire class applauded

The girl was surprised,

And tears glistened in her eyes,

As she had finally found something

That made her realized.

And so, since that eye-opening day,

The little girl continued to write poetry.

Some sad, others happy,

Both short and long;

But all from within,

The life of that little girl

Told from her heart,

Now no longer broken apart

Poetry made that sad little girl

Look  deep inside herself,

To pull out what had been

Hidden, but there,

All along.

And it was through this,

Through writing of poetry and stories,

That the little girls darkness faded,

And her heart became light once more.

The little girl still faced hardships,

But the outlook wasn’t so bleak anymore,

Because she had found something special,

Something that kept her grounded and happiness

Restored.

An outlet from her life and from her troubles,

Writing was the answer.

No longer a broken, sad little girl,

But an independent, happy, young woman,

She still writes to this day.

The young woman owes writing

Her very life,

Because, without it,

She would of never learned

How to fight the darkness

In her mind and all throughout

Her life.

And that is why I write.