Enter day one.
Post schedule change, nervous and afraid
of what the semester held in store.
The fear leaves as friendly faces enter
Great things are to come.

Pencil to paper, but unsure what to write.
Instead lead flows into art.
Art flows into a tentative journal entry.
Sowing the seedling
that would grow into pages of thoughts well written
if not spoken.

Time came and went
as feelings came and went.
Ideas changed less like the seasons
and more like the passing of the moon and sun
as they spin round the earth trying to catch each other in an eternal dance…
If not for the flow of feelings on paper,
My words would not have grown
into the flowering tree of metaphors and description they are now.

This tree gave fruit in the form of poetry,
never before willingly created by these hands.
Some fruit fell and became forgotten, to become the rich soil that feeds the tree
but others grew ripe after care.
One swelled larger than the rest.
Albeit it had the citrus taste of anger,
it was tender with honesty.
It was the one that gave me confidence in my words.

Exit day eighty-seven
After one semester, confident and sure
that I will continue to grow this tree,
even I am the only one who gathers its fruit.