Writing, Writing, Writing. Crazy.

A poem is like a story. A poem is a story. A poem hits you like a ton of bricks, or it hits you like a feather pillow, or it does not hit you at all, and simply fades away into the background of life. Poetry is like walking down a busy New York street: sometimes, you see people so strange and unusual that you know you will remember them for a good while. Other times, you see people so striking, so beautiful, so nice, so…themselves that you wish you could take a picture and never forget them. Most of the time, however, you see non-descript people, going about their business, walking through life in the same way you are. But when you write a poem, you become someone else. Perhaps you become one of those beautiful people. Maybe you blend in with all the rest of the world, and only stick out to a certain few.

I find when I write with rhythm and rhyme

That I sit and think for too little time

I cannot sit and write for hours on end

With nothing at hand but a page and a pen

Fantastic creatures can come to life

But grabbing details causes such strife

Originality comes easily and then I’m soaring

But writing facts can be awfully boring

In a conversation and its length

I often lack sufficient strength

I can tie a story together quite well

But there are some points I just cannot sell

An outline, for one, I just cannot do

Call them undeveloped—well, it’s true

I will wait until I am out of time, out of room

Before I let an idea burst into bloom

The ideas I have are sometimes too small

And I work too hard and kill them all

I sometimes…let sentences…drag

I keep ideas to myself and try not to brag

The ending to this may be obviously simple

When praised I will easily dimple

I appreciate feedback at all times

But hate when people insult my rhymes

The content to a story of mine

Is striking, polished, and refined

It makes me blush when my work is shown

And when teachers praise my style and tone

If you wish, and if you work hard enough, you can become one of the many faces that people will remember. You can become beautiful. I prefer to be different. Although beauty is not lost on me, I find that moments in which you laugh or cry stay with me longer. Laughing is a joy, and writing poetry that makes people laugh is a wonderful thing.