Poetry was not made for me

Rhyme does not come naturally

My body knows rhythm, only when dancing

My mind cannot spit out the words to create a thing of beauty easily

At least not how I wish my mind could.

I thought poetry was made for me as a child.

Genius. I thought I was a genius.

Writing words in random lines

No rhythm, no rhyme

Just fragmented sentences trying to create a thing of wonder

I thought I had succeeded for a time

I thought my words were extraordinary

Showing them to everyone I knew I learned they were nothing special

I stopped writing

Failure. I thought I was a Failure.

Poetry was not made for me

When I was ready I started writing again

But. No longer was I trying for a work of art

It was only an expression of emotion.

Emotion unhindered by grammar

Unhindered by Rhythm

Emotion that I didn’t care whether it made sense anymore

Poetry was not made for me