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history
it was
innocence
nursery rhymes
read as we fell asleep
cinquains, haikus
A, B, A, B, C
projects typed
fresh from a word document
prompts and clear curricula
i was afraid to display my fangs and
sharp claws when i
was being graded on how well i could
compare life to the passing of seasons
i wrapped up each poem with a moral
of the story
a good ending, a silver lining
i resolved every lingering doubt with
a reason
it is
fundamentally unstable
now that it is up to me
what should i put in words and what
should remain a mystery ?
i lost my rhythm and precious rhymes
and sweet similes and replaced them
with raucous rambling, nervous white noise
i write because
i have to, because i
have no other choice
i am less concerned with spreading beauty and
more with having a voice
it will be
my comforting, time wasting
pursuit, i will
type and type and type between
shifts and
scatter lengthy phrases in between my
lecture notes
one day
i will recognize my accidental, undercover
hobby, go further than i ever thought i would-
i could grow a voice, sharp and shrill on stage
and finally make room
for the stories i've wanted to tell
i can make it fiery and beautiful
melt my detached uncompromising ice
creating wishes out of stitches
and life from a coping device