When I was fourteen I learned to write
I learned to pour out my sorrow onto the pages
of an old notebook
When I was fourteen I learned to write for myself
Without stupid prompts
asking me what I was proud of
When I was fourteen I learned to write the truth
Never again did a meaningless sentence spill out of my pen
saying things that were opposite of what I felt
When I was fourteen I learned to write for everyone else
I said to those silent pages what I could not say to their faces
for fear of losing everything
When I was fourteen, I learned to write
May 28, 2013
May 28, 2013 at 12:17 AM UTC
When I was fourteen I learned to write
I learned to pour out my sorrow onto the pages
of an old notebook
When I was fourteen I learned to write for myself
Without stupid prompts
asking me what I was proud of
When I was fourteen I learned to write the truth
Never again did a meaningless sentence spill out of my pen
saying things that were opposite of what I felt
When I was fourteen I learned to write for everyone else
I said to those silent pages what I could not say to their faces
for fear of losing everything
When I was fourteen, I learned to write
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