a thirst to write

who would have known?

she held me in her arms, dear mother

did she think, this one’s going to be a poet ?

did she know?

who would have known?

only fourteen

but i love to write out scenes

manipulate words, twist them to match my feelings

ask them kindly, search them for answers

for they are my friends, sometimes my only

who would have known?

my mouth is scared, cowers almost always

it doesn’t like to talk, no never

when did my pen become an extension of myself?

it is better friends with words, it likes words

i figure my mouth doesn’t, it hates them, doesn’t dare to speak them

enemies, perhaps, though maybe more of strangers

because a word spoken is rare

a word written is not.

who would have known?

the quiet girl at school, that’s what they know

she makes straight a’s, and the teachers love her, but she never talks

she has her head in her books, never raises her eyes

the shy one, that’s all i am.

to them.

only to them.

to a paper, i am more.

to a pen, a friend.

they are worlds, i seek to discover all their corners and countries, to learn more and more

i am not nearly close enough. someday, maybe.

and maybe, someday too, i’ll fill a book with poem after poem, pages and pages on end

and it’ll go on shelves around the world, perhaps.

and then, i’ll say to my kids,

who would have known?

perhaps, someday, maybe.