I Remember When I Started Writing
It was a sad day.
I can't remember why.
All I know is I went to my room
And started to cry.
I
Felt like I was dying.
The world had lost its touch.
My insides were drying
From crying oh so much.
I was young;
Maybe 9 or maybe 8.
But I remember I used to hate
My life.
Who I was, where I'd come from.
I was a trouble-maker,
Always angry, but never knew why.
I still am sometimes, angry without reason.
But that day, oh that day
There was just no pleasing
me.
I was at school, I remember
Because I threw a book a my teacher.
My poor, sweet teacher whose eyes I still remember.
I could never forget because one was green
and the other was gray.
They seemed to swirl, her eyes.
I could look at them all day.
She sent me to this lady
Who was very scary.
She had a mole that was kinda hairy
She had to snap for me to stop starring.
And she gave me
A notebook.
To draw, write, scribble how I feel.
It was my "homework".
So sometimes, I'd draw
And other times I'd write.
And one day, she called me back
And asked to look in my journal.
She said I was a good writer.
She said I had talent.
She said I was exceptional.
YOU ARE READING
The Book of Poetry in the Back of My Cabinet
ŞiirJust a bunch a poems... let's see where this goes. You should read them though, if you like poetry. They're pretty cool. Yes... I write poetry because I'm too lazy to write full stories.
