At eight I listened
as things passed by
in a colorful blur.
Momma sat beside me,
talking to that lady.
The nice one,
with her brightly colored tiles.
My world had a new label,
they thought it sealed me fate.
I didn't know it then,
the long walk ahead.
People said things.
Said I would never make it,
would never read,
definitely never write.
Those words pierced me.
Why not?
I'd ask.
Why can't I?
Dyslexia isn't
a red x
marking incompetence.
It was a walk.
A long one.
A tiring one,
full of trials
but I made it.
And here I stand now
on those insults.
On the bones
of those who said:
"You can't."
I can, and I did.
I flew with broken wings.
I flew and mended them.
It was a walk
but I made it.
📍Location: In The Car
YOU ARE READING
Memories Make A House A Home: A Poetry Collection
PoesíaThis is a collection of poems inspired by George Ella Lyon's "A Many-Storied House". These will all be based off of my childhood home. Some will contain certain memories others will comment/reflect on life. Please enjoy! ____________________________...
