My first passion was the arts,
My first weapon was a brush,
My first move was a stroke,
Up
down
left
right
round
and
round
My first masterpiece was an image
of a boy and
a girl,
sitting on a bench,
under a tree.
The girl was leaning on the boy's
shoulder, the boy was whispering
something in her ear.
My mother asked me, "Are they in love?"
I said
"No, they are just
Young,
Happy,
and
Innocent."
Years have gone by.
I ditched arts for writing,
I ditched brushes for pens,
I ditched strokes for words,
'I'
'love'
You'
And got my first broken heart.
All I saw was myself, in my room
sitting on the floor, leaning on my bedside,
whispering, "I shouldn't have wrote that."
My mother asked me, "Are you alright?"
I said, "No. I am in love."