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Poetry Collection
Volume 1:
Growing Pains
Helpful Hint: Before reading each poem, click poem covers to see its overview/ description.
A Star
STRUGGLING TO BURN
Everytime I close my eyes I see a star that shines so brightly
But that can’t be me because I’m too different
-At least that’s what they keep telling me.
Everytime I close my eyes I see a star that shines so brightly
But that can’t be me because I’m not enough
-At least that’s what they keep telling me.
Everytime I close my eyes I see a star that shines so brightly,
Passionately burning for all to see.
Could that be me?
Could I be the star I see?
No, it couldn’t be me. . .
I could never be. . .
Why?
Because that is what they tell me.
One day. . .
Some day. . .
Is what my hope keeps telling me.
Louder than the “No’s”
Are the words from the beginning of time.
The command God gave “to shine.”
“Let there be light.”
A command I can’t seem to shake.
Even though they say
I’m too different,
Even though they say
I’m not enough,
My soul still echoes
“Let there be light.”
An Angel
SCARED TO FLY
How can I fly if I insist on walking?
How can I touch the sky if I don't make the effort to soar?
“Oh if I had the wings of an eagle…”
I’d still walk
- not because I don’t want to fly.
It’s simply because I find myself constantly choosing to stay grounded.
I have the ability to sing
Yet I only talk.
I have the ability to speak
Yet I remain mute.
I have the ability to reach
Yet I stay put.
So, I conclude that if I had the ability to fly
I’d probably still walk.
This is not to say that one day,
I won’t sing, talk, and reach out.
One day, maybe…
But as for today my efforts haven’t caught enough wind for me to soar.
The excuse for staying grounded so long has
always been
we have legs for a reason too,
right?
A Seed
SCARED OF BECOMING
Small. Brown. Closed.
A seed, unaware of who she will become when she blossoms.
No longer will she fit in with her peers unless they blossom too.
Scary thought. No longer fitting in.
Sometimes it feels that life would be easier without change
-too bad that’s what it’s all about.
Life without change, growth, and movement resembles death.
A seed. Scared of the process.
Scary thought: being buried alive.
That period of isolation and darkness.
Where it’s just me and the dirt, no one else to lean on.
Small. Brown. Closed.
What will life be like for me once it’s over?
What will I be like after I’ve blossomed?
The scariest thing is that I fear that I will no longer be me.
Small. Brown. Closed.
That’s who I am.
That’s how I met my friends.
That’s how I was born.
It’s who I am.
Small. Brown. Closed.
Is who I’ve always been.
Who am I without it?
Who will I be once I resurface?