On her birthday a small girl gets
A tiny blank book with flowered cover
And starts to write lyrics to her regrets.
A medium girl rediscovers
A composition book with slight blue lines
She locks away her worries; she begins to recover.
A "big" girl lets the words out of their confines
Within a gifted book bound in wine red.
As she lets him read it, the world realigns.
Now I'm grown, watered by tears shed
And pages written in saddness, frustration, and jubilee.
The urge to write is in my soul; embeded.
I am a poet because I have to be;
My fingers itch with the unwritten phrases.
I write because I'm human, because I feel, because I see.
With a pen I am set free, it amazes
Me how beautiful the world looks in poetry.
I write to reveal our downfalls and sing life's praises.
I have grown tall, watered by words.