Dear Teacher,

Thu, 12/12/2013 - 17:36 -- 02_zero


It all comes to this.

One, one two, one two three, one two three four.

These poems, such a masterpiece

Heck, you'd be a fool to ignore.

A story in each, a part of me like sand on the beach

To words about Me, to words about Thee

Into words with everything in between.

This is a free verse poem, the freedom to express

A part of me to give away, yes.

Understand the words I say, the letters in each

Something beneath indescribable, my freedom of speech

This is me, you can never change that

A soul in me, burning with integrity

This is where my heart is at. The heart of poetry.



Words that kept haunting me that Poetry is dead. Poetry is weak. Poetry does nothing in the world. I was sick and tired of everything. I decided to prove them wrong. Teachers who laugh at those who have the ability to change the world.

My favorite part of this poem is the fact that it was just me writing it. No inspiration, no help, just me, spitting words with the meaning that Poetry is not dead. It lives in the Hearts of others. That is the Heart of Poetry.

Each poem has a brilliant meaning, speaking fast or slow, saying plain words to extraordinary vocabulary, every poem has the same value. A Masterpiece value.

This Poem. Is a Masterpiece.

- Othello

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