Winter is coming
Creeping in, ever closer
Time for me to run

Looking through old belongings,
Knicks, knacks, and other things.

A paper she wrote three years past,
Ticket to a show from summer before last.
A wallet containing five dollars and some,
An old, slightly mushy piece of gum.
Blue ribbon from the first-grade Field Day-
The picture taken when a friend came to stay.

Some things just have to be tossed;
Others are treasures that she'd lost.

Sorting through her childhood,
She sees she's grown... for ill or for good.

Everything I do
Is a scream for attention,
A call for validation,
A plea for someone to notice

I don't want to be told 'shoo'
Please just listen
Tell me I'm not invisible
Tell me I've done well

That's all I need- for you
To care and to say
That I matter, to give
Me congratulations

So I'm selfish- yeah, what's new?

Poetry can be written in the dark or it can be written in the light
Its written in the open
Its written behind a locked door
Its shown in movements
Its shown in sounds
Its funny
Its sad
Its inspiring
Its for children
Its for birds
And dogs
And cats
And people
But the one thing that poetry must be
Is that it must be
From your HEART
And more importantly it must form from passion

Inside your heart

Or else it will be swept up and shoved down
By all the hate
Apathy
Laziness
Contempt
That is more than plentiful in this world
Poetry must be passion
Or else its another recycled paper
Or another deleted file
Or failed grade
Passion and only passion from the heart
       Inspires
Entrances
             And grows

Sometimes the best advice
is hypocritical

Because the best of us
wish we were better
than what we are