For the Love of Poetry
Eighth grade was a rememberable year
Two full weeks of nothing but poetry
Allowed to express secret tears
No longer did I find myself moppy
Words came out
I was expressed
If I wanted to I could pout
Nothing seemed like a real pest
Once I no longer had to continue
My passion kept growing
Bad attitudes discontinued
I'd write about anything even the wind blowing
As years passed my talent grew
I could write anything for a long time
With poetry I couldn't feel quite so blue
If I stopped writing it would be a crime