When my hands hurt from writing so long,

Burning from quickly writing down thoughts,

Creating every feeling onto paper,

Not able to stop expressing my feelings

The only way I knew how to.

 

Poetry is me.

I am poetry.

I’m what I write.

What I write is what I am.

I didn’t choose poetry,

It chose me

Ever since I can remember

I have been a poet.

 

This is who I am,

What I’ve been,

Something I’ll be,

These words are now crafted

Into beautiful words on paper.

 

I did not know I could write

Something so memorable,

Something so beautiful

Until my teacher taught

A poetry lesson one day

When I was in middle school.

 

From that moment on,

Inspiration set in

And sparked my pen

And lit my paper on fire

With the feelings

And emotions of

My memories.