Poetry~ They can't know it's me,
I tell myself they'll never know.
It is my way to flow,to let go.
The words in my head need to be freed,
But the windmills won't turn,
It's only a breeze.
Maybe if they could see how I see,
Or feel what I feel,
Maybe they'd know how I feel is real.
"Why so locked up?
You're not as loquacious.
You used to be loud, annoying, bodacious."
I think what you're seeing is what you remember,
The little girl I was, that was last December.
Now the May flowers are springing,
The haikus they're bringing.
To the world that's now opened,
My small self seems choked.
Now don't get me wrong, I'm not very old,
But despite my young age my experience grows.
I know what I think, and I know that I'm right
So please don't be blinded by your bias in sight.
My age is merely a mark,
So please, don't stop me before I start.
~Kj
I posted this on another poetry website, but I like this site better. Sorry it's so rough. PLEASE look for the symbolism (punctuation, repeated words). Ugh, I hope I didn't fail as a writer. I hope you understand.