They tried to teach poetry as a class in fifth grade,

Even the teacher opposed to ‘teaching’ poetry,

Poetry is not taught, it is felt in your heart and soul,

It is a way of expressing yourself like nothing and no one else,

Pour your heart out and there will always be somebody who will listen,

Always somebody who will be moved or helped by it,

For me my poetry is my journal, diary, past, present, and future

Words nobody else could or would use in the same way,

My feelings, thoughts, and plans spread across the paper for all to see,

Leaving my conscience blank and clear,

Everybody needs a release and this is mine,

Poetry is right, there is no wrong,

To write it which give creativity room to grow,

Like wild flowers across a barren dessert

And when the rain finally comes it is full, beautiful, and worth the wait

So I write and see the storm clouds roll in

And know I will only grow and prosper when they arrive.