Seventh Grade.
I wrote about a kid..
A troubled kid with memories, memories he did dread.. Of which he seen he grandmother in her deathbed.. He didn't kno he could write, but he did because it was his only Defense in the fight..

Eighth Grade.
My English teacher tried to
“Harness” my talent,
in the raw.. Said in me she seen no flaws..
Never forget that competition I lost to Chris, but this teacher Pushed me into competitions
Of which I had no interest...

Freshman Year..
I got accused of plagiarism. They Didn't believe these were my writings..
After all,
What could I possibly know
About the world's tragedies, poverty, or how the stars were symbolic to my thoughts and tears...
after jus a mere 14 years I've spent living here?
I was told to “stick to something
a 14-year-old could write" because a young man my age knows nothing about how world hunger just isn't right...

Sophomore Year
I wrote about the young girl that had my heart... That is, until she completely ripped it apart..
So I began to change it, grew cold, wrote bout "these hoes" because love was sumthin I just didn't want no mo!

Junior year
I began to mature, so I wrote about life, love things of that nature... Listened in class & found new ways to write, new things like using hyperboles, or changing it up & adding Analogies..

Senior year
I had no fear, at least that's wat they seen. I was focused and my eye was keen..started to learn I didn't have to cry, so I wrote about stages In my life, I learned to say goodbye, bye to the things tht made me cry, held my head high & looked to the skies.. I didn't have to run, I learned I could be Fighter.. I learned by looking bak at the Evolutions of a young writer...