I remember that time. Lines were blurred, family became obscured and school was my only outlet. Words were my only outlet. Teaches of rhyme to add to my words were introduced. I enjoyed it. I enjoyed having a voice and my voice was heard and sympathized with. I remember that time. Rhyme and reason blurred into a transaction and state of mind. I was young, and naïve to the world around me. I began to think and wonder where my life would take me. Poetry was nothing more than fancy words and quick thinking. I believed poetry was nothing more than a hobby or choice. Growing older I see. I can see poetry as something more. I can see it as a way of life. It breathes and festers inside of me until it’s free. Now I write because it makes sense. Now I write because I use it to gain experience. I write because I remember my words come from. A place if hate, a place of love, a place of rhyme. I remember that time.