I was a very emotional child who used to write about darkness and hard times, without ever having experienced them. When I was about ten or eleven, I used to write about anything. Then, I would gather all the pages I wrote on and copy what I wrote into a diary.
I decided to go through that notebook today where I found it buried beneath and beside the childish handwriting; the words themselves made me cringe. It wasn’t that I was a bad writer….it’s just that….I was a bad writer. Not that I could judge my younger self since I’m not that much better now, but one thing I give kudos to my younger self for is the rhyming effort.
Today, I find it so difficult to rhyme without sounding like I’m trying too hard. Sitting and thinking of words takes too much effort and time that I don’t have right now. Nonetheless, I’ve searched and found one of the least embarrassing poems in my diary and decided to share it with an audience. I know I’m going to regret this:
-My Words-
I write my words
Slow and steady
Creeping, spreading
Until it fills the page
Over and over
Insanely repeated
Done and gone
Historically recorded
Maybe one day I hoped
That my words will be heard
Laughed and cried
Screamed and whispered
As I crawl over
And lay in my grave
My words get buried
Forever again-
End.