I’ve always heard the hungry howl of paper waiting to be fed;
Waiting for perfect, sublime words to fill it up.
The paper has been calling my name since I was young;
Tempting, tantalizing, taunting me to write.
I started with silly stories about princesses and super-heroes
Saving the day and leaving their mark on the world.
Like a seed I grew, expanding my horizons.
All the time, I avoided poetry like the plague.
Poetry was dangerous; daunting.
It was never my cup of tea; never appealing.
My first taste of poetry was Dr. Suess.  
I always thought he was crazy.
My second bite of poetry was Shel Silverstein.  
He made me laugh, but it got annoying quick.
They say the third time’s a charm,
And for me, it was.
Robert Frost intrigued me with ‘The Road Not Taken’.
I started to see the true beauty of words.
I realized that poetry was words in their most admirable form.
I began to feel something stirring inside of me
Like a monster wanting out of its cage.
I felt the seed of poetry planting itself inside me,
And I watered it everyday.
It’s still growing, still blooming;
Being nurtured by the metaphors of Emily Dickinson  
And the breathtaking words of Shakespeare;
Two people made immortal because of their words.
I hope to be like them one day;
To be immobilized in print;
Leaving my mark in society
Like the super-heroes in the stories I wrote when I was young.