A young girl dreams to be a dancer,
To move her pencil in time to the beat.
A young girl wants to be a dancer,
A dancer with words,
To let her thoughts flow with grace,
To speak truthfully without a hesitate,
To move in a world without judgment,
Just understanding.
A little boy, we'll call dyslexia,
Taunted her and broke her down.
He pushed her dream away
And the worst part is she had no say.
She didn't ask for him in her life.
Heredity, they say, dyslexia's hereditary.
Her deadbeat father passed him on to her.
Bedtime stories, her mother use to read to her,
She loved them, but struggled to read them,
But as days passed, she grew up,
In special ed. class, she got better.
"Take that." she thought.
"Here I am writing this poem,
Letter by letter, word by word,"
Now who has the say?
Struggle I may but
I'll keep dancing everyday
My pencil, my thoughts and I
We flow together with ease and grace.
YOU ARE READING
Thoughts via The Moment. (poetry)
Poetry© Alyssa Russ. 2011 - Present All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of Alyssa Diane...
