Your true life began with your
Hands putting colour to  

Paper.
It was your first breath.

Words came to you, one by one;
Like steps; you learned to walk.

We held your hands as you
Progressed laughing, singing:

                       I want more.

I want to create. Transfer thoughts.
You reached your teens with your

First poem. The one about kittens.
Sometimes you fell.

Came home from school crying
Over painful words; rejection.

We had been through it too, and
Knew how to pick you back up,

Sit you down at a table to write
It out. *Just write, sweetheart.  

                       Just write.