I was a child
who found beauty
in the symphony of words.

Restless,
I tried to join sentences
and stack beautiful vocabulary
in my empty glittered journal
but nothing worked.

Years have passed
and I remember the exact moment
when I realised that what I loved
was called Poetry.

I marvelled at the writing of others
thinking of myself
as a streak of faint ink
on a masterpiece of paint.

To me, I was incapable of being an artist
and painting sheets with my emotions
but in the end,
we all have a fire within our hearts
that we want to put out
and we write endlessly
to tell others its story.