i didn't know the true definition of writing
or that i happened to be good at it
until about 693 days ago
when my teacher asked us
to write an essay
on what we knew about best
and the only words that i could create
from my trembling fingertips
was words of torment
and aching endeavors
i didn't know that i liked poetry
until about 462 days ago
when i found an old book
lying in the corner of my friend's room
and picked it up and started reading it
                Listen to the MUSTN’TS, child,

                  Listen to the DON’TS

                  Listen to the SHOULDN’TS

                  The IMPOSSIBLES, the WON’TS

                   Listen to the NEVER HAVES

                   Then listen close to me—

                    Anything can happen, child,

                    ANYTHING can be

i didn't know that poetry was my outlet
until about 498 days ago
when you slipped in between
the spaces of my fingers like water
and no longer looked at me
like you craved my presence
and ached for my lips
i didn't know that i was in love with poetry
until it held me in its hands
and grieved along side me
when no one else would