When I was born,
My mom threw letters
Down on a page until
It was legible. It was pronounced
As common as any, but the spelling,
Oh, the spelling was like no other.
Vowels and consonants ran into each other,
All gasping for air in the cramped space.
I was raised knowing my name was special.
It had a new meaning by breaking the rule
'I before E except after C.' I had
Originality on my side and used it proudly.
The meaning is odd, something with hay
And fields, merely a laughable subject.
Knowing my name is different
Makes me different.
Even if you say it the same as all the others,
******* has a special spot for me and
Me only.
YOU ARE READING
Poems in the dark of night
ПоэзияPoems that I can't express to anyone through words spoken, so I put them on paper. Words that explain hardships and times I can't sleep because of these thought roaming through my brain.
