My Words

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’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-