Abigail

I I slam because I’m me And I’m me therefore I slam If you don’t get it I understand I’ll try and explain it as best as I can I’m not an artist That is plain to see If I’ve had a rough day I can’t simply find a pen and sketch a tree I’m not a gamer either This isn’t something new Hand-eye coordination Just isn’t my forte too The first poem I recall Is a famous one I’m sure you’ve heard it too It’s the one about the color of roses And it mentions violets too I was told it doesn’t have to rhyme And that it don’t have to be true So if I’m ever feeling blue I pick up my book and simply write what I’m going through It can be happy and merry Or dramatic and scary Make you roll on the floor in hysterics Or be filled with innuendos to make your brain tick But whatever it is I’ve always believed My poem should be a mirror That reflects a small portion of me