For months, this time.
I didn’t do it intentionally,
But knowingly.
Why am I back to it?
It came back to me.
Everyone has their calling
Their place.
Poetry is mine.
I should be glad to know
Exactly how to ease my soul,
Some people look for a lifetime.
Yet, I’ve stopped.
For months.
To do it alone, I guess,
To live alone.
To not tell my soul’s thoughts,
But a soul cannot be shackled,
And this I learned in agony.
Until out of my routine,
My life,
Came one person
Who didn’t need to care,
And they told me,
Without knowing my struggles,
To write again
For them.
To write again because
They saw my need,
They saw my shackles.
Age 17