A Little Thing Called Poetry

I won’t pretend to be an unfortunate soul,

With hardships and suffering I could barely handle.

But I have had my fair share of emotional misery.

Tears have fallen on my pillow

From a pain that only a parent could give,

When he abandons you like a Rolling Stone.

I could have made the life decisions

That would have soothed that wound in the moment,

But I prevailed, with a little thing called poetry.


My brows would furrow daily,

As I witnessed the wasted talent of peers,

Who strutted and strolled as if they owned the world!

When, in reality,

All they possessed were the stereotypes attached to their names,

And nonchalance to back it up.

I could have screamed in their faces,

I could have judged their characters,

I could have even joined them in their bad decision-making,

But I prevailed, with a little thing called poetry.


It was not easy enduring my first broken heart;

Not knowing why certain feelings were felt,

Or certain thoughts surfaced.

It was difficult dealing with the pain

That managed to become a physical burden,

And would occasionally delay me getting out of bed in the morning.

But instead letting each and every negative thought

Hold me in the seventh circle of hell,

I prevailed, with a little thing called poetry.


No, I am not the unluckiest person in the world.

I have everyday problem and a few milestones that I’ve crossed,

But with each one, important or trivial,

I have not been able to completely overcome my obstacle,

Or put my soul to rest,

Without a little thing called poetry.


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