Poet

If, ten years ago, you told me poetry would be my passion

I wouldn't believe you

See, then I believed it was confined by rhyme

That it had no deeper meaning than the literal

And that feelings had nothing to do with it

I did not find joy from it

In fact I hated it

I didn't know you could tell stories,

It could be your diary,

If you wanted,

It could be whatever

You wanted

And now

I cannot live without it