As I sit blankly in class glaring amongst the rows and seats in front of me,
the teacher blabbing pointless continuations of words, I can only think of
one thing. In all the years I’v had to ponder and discover my ways of
thinking, I never thought this was who I am, who I’m supposed to become;
a writer, allowing myself to sit and form words within my mind as I feel I
have something to tell people. Maybe they aren’t interested in what I have
to say. Or perhaps they know my thoughts might mean something to
them, something that they are able to relate to. I myself love to write. I
have prepared myself from simple poetry as an average emotional teen,
then slowly progressing to a determined writer.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.