I was going through some of my things when I came across some of the things I wrote when I was younger. This had to of been from my creative writing class in high school. I know this because it’s all the student’s writings put into one plastic ring book. I had two poems in there. Here they are.
People are birds,
They fly with passion, pride,
Of how truly annoying they really are.
There are diverse kinds,
All are different,
But they are still birds.
They do as they please,
And don’t care who they hurt.
When one dies all of them gather,
They quit flapping their wings,
And they focus on the matter at hand,
But in no time,
Such as a couple of days,
They are back to doing the same dumb,
And annoying things.
I remember writing this after my grandma’s funeral. I remember specifically because my Uncle, who quit coming around, had promised to be more involved in our lives again. Yet, he never did. I feel like this speaks a lot of volumes for me still. Many broken promises and lack of involvement from people that SHOULD matter.
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