There are no words for how I feel,
The feeble English feels unreal,
So I turn to other languages,
To tell me how I feel.

French says Bonjour,
Its word is "Amour,"
Russian says "Kak",
But it puts me farther back.

I look to Icelandic for an answer,
But all I get is "ást",
So I choose Latin,
And I hurry fast,
I type in my question,
And it says "tamquam" last.

Perhaps I'll find another language,
One I'll perfectly enjoy,
But for now, I'll stick with English,
And I'll say what it says.

"Like" and "Love".

With a pen, I have the world,
With a pen, color rises and whirls.

With a pen, I can draw fantastical things,
With a pen, imagination stretches vast wings.

With a pen, language takes hold,
With a pen, the story is bold.

With a pen, I can write many letters,
With a pen, my voice is unfettered.

And with a pen, I can make a 'me',
With a pen, I can see all that will be.

I would have liked to live from a world long ago,
Where dragons felt real and mythology was known,
I would have liked to talk about the gods,
Their shapes and sides and their place in the home.

I would have liked to live in a world of magic,
With fairies and elves abound,
When people took the time to talk,
And nature could be found.

I would have liked to live in a new place,
Even if it's in outer space,
I would have liked to travel and make a new story,
One that ends in a blaze of glory,
But I'm
Just
Here.

So I'll make a new world,
One of my own,
With all of the magic that I had known.

How do I make a poem?
How do I take the blank page, my canvas,
Dip my brush in ink,
And write well enough to make others cry?

How do I make a poem,
One that is like a bird,
That flies away into the minds of the readers?
That makes a nest in their very soul?

And what are the words I use?
Are they big?
Small?
Uncommon?

I think I know the answer.

You don't write for others.

You write from the heart,
The soul,
From yourself.

Who cares if it's unpopular? It's your poem.

And that makes it beautiful.