If my life was a novel,
I wouldn't be on my backstory,
I wouldn't be on the back cover.
I'd be on the front page.
In a writers block,
Trying to figure out how to sign my name,
Just a pen in my hand,
Not yet sure what I want to say.
With no idea who I am as an author,
Nevertheless a clue how to phrase,
Thoughts I haven't developed,
Or sayings I wouldn't yet think to say.
I hadn't lived life,
So I couldn't write about it.
But I picked up a crayon,
Observed,
Gave myself a minute.
I didn't write about life,
I decided to write with it.
Though I didn't get a novel,
I wrote only a bit.
I found it said more,
Than a book ever did,
It spoke to the heart,
Not just the mind,
Through rhythm,
And rhyme,
I wrote my life story,
But it wasn't just mine,
It said what we all felt,
It expressed things we all left behind.
So my life wasn't a novel,
It lasted only a page,
But yet it left you crying,
It left you amazed.
And that is how I became,
A poet,
I turned life into a maze.
I gave it hidden meanings,
And feelings,
So that everyone could see it in their own way.
And I learned life is the word we use,
But a poem best describes,
Everything we've been through.
