I think i was eight when i started to appreciate
a new world that had monsters, and dragons, and dungeons.
It was colorful when i felt colorless
insightful when i felt blind
there when i wasn't
and me when i was gone.
It was a world where i could slay evil in my times of peril and deceit.
It was me.
It was my everything.
It was me.
I found something there.
That no one could believe.
Somehow I managed to retrieve-
I poured out my heart. And scribbled out my pain.
I laughed at my humor. As I fought incredulous pain.
I learned something about myself.
I was someone with a name.
I was someone who had worth.
I was someone. I was me.
The first poem was for a school assignment and when i was done with it
I had to do more than just try it.
I dove into the deep blue seas of the carribean, and slashed my way through the over grown weeds of Australia.
I even went to the moon and back... in one. whole. day.
I sank to the bottom of shimmering, glossy waters and watched happy guppies swim with their loving, guppy moms.
I was brave and daring! Sharing my opinion with everyone.
I was not emotionless, nor was I hollow.
I was a sprouting tree with lovely, colorful birds nesting in my leaves. With squirrels scattering across my branches, worms hiding in my soil.
I had life.
In the end, I had to do more than just try it.