Words

Way back in third grade is when I think it all started

Back when I was supposed to be free-willed and open-hearted,
And still laughed every time someone in class farted.

 

 

I couldn’t really relate to the other kids,

And they only really liked me for the things I did.
They liked my grades, and wanted to be friends with the smart girl,
Who was slowly becoming terrified of the whole world.

 

 

I was taken to a therapist for anxiety, 

But he didn’t do as much to help me as writing.
As I wrote about whatever the teacher requested,
I felt my love for words being manifested. 

 

 

Fourth grade came, along with the Writing TAKS,

The preparation for the test was my favourite task.
I loved creating worlds and making things up,
It was a distraction from all the people and growing up.

 

 

As the years went on, I still couldn’t really relate,

All my friends started getting into new things and were starting to date.
I  listened to my parents, and stayed true to me,
Regardless of the turmoil that is my family.

 

 

I  wrote as a way to make something new,

Something that would help others see from my point of view. 
They could see my thoughts and creativity,
While I had fun escaping reality.

 

 

By eighth grade, the anxiety got worse, and school required more of my time, 

And I lost some interest in the thing that made me feel fine.
I  would write random thoughts into the margins of my papers while my teachers droned on and lectured
Because I had the notes, and all the work, people, and anxieties were making my actions feel censored.
But aside from abandoned projects, that’s all I wrote due to the concern for my grades each semester.

 

 

I hadn’t ever finished more than a few poems and random prompts,

So I questioned whether it was time to just forget writing and stop.
Then, I took an amazing class that reminded me of my love for words and expression,
It helped relieve me of some of my anxiety-induced depression.

 

 

This past year, through writing projects for that class and others, I remembered that I loved to write because words can’t judge me for who I am,

They can’t make me feel isolated like social interactions.
Words, written or read, are the only things I can rely on to stay the same.
Their definitions don’t change often, and I know what emotions to feel since words don’t play games.

 

 

I love writing because I understand it.

I love writing because it is my own personal outlet.
I can share my thoughts with others in a way that doesn’t leave me shaking and scared.
I can share whatever is on my mind without scrambling and stumbling over words because I’m unprepared.

 

 

I’m now entering the eleventh grade, and I can’t help but appreciate words every day,

Which is absolutely essential because they are the only thing that can help me move forward and pave my way.

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741