A few years ago I lay in my grandma's bed, listening to her, her sister (my great aunt, Kathee),my aunt Bridget, and my grandpa, talking and playing cards. I was supposed to be sleeping, but I was awake, listening to them laugh. I wished I was downstairs with them. I was not to happy that I had to go to bed. So, I casually walked downstairs and stated that I really needed a glass of water.
I filled up my glass and stood beside the table.Kathee smiled at me, and asked for me to come over beside her. I sipped my icy water and stood next to her as she pulled out a folded piece of paper from her purse. "This is a poem where you fill in the blanks. Would you write one for me?" she whispered. She told me that her son, Josh, wrote one in his sixth grade class. His first line was something like this: I am a crazy poker playing biker. I laughed hysterically at his clever line. I thought it was hilarious. Then, I leaned towards her, and said, "I will. I'll write one."
I am a writer who tells stories to herself as she runs.
I wonder what will come tomorrow.
I hear a piano playing.
I see snow falling, leaves twirling mid-air,tulips blomming, and the hot sun beating.
I want to learn a new language.
I am a writer who tells stories to herself as she runs.
I pretend to be different people in different places.
I feel nervous about being in the air.
I touch the delicate petals on a rose.
I worry about everyone being okay.
I cry when someone leaves us forever.
I am a writer who tells stories to herself as she runs.
I understand no one knows everything.
I say thanks for all my family and friends.
I dream about touching heaven through an arched glass ceiling.
I try to to write, laugh, and sing every day.
I hope to write a book.
I am a writer who tells stories to herself as she runs.
I filled up my glass and stood beside the table.Kathee smiled at me, and asked for me to come over beside her. I sipped my icy water and stood next to her as she pulled out a folded piece of paper from her purse. "This is a poem where you fill in the blanks. Would you write one for me?" she whispered. She told me that her son, Josh, wrote one in his sixth grade class. His first line was something like this: I am a crazy poker playing biker. I laughed hysterically at his clever line. I thought it was hilarious. Then, I leaned towards her, and said, "I will. I'll write one."
I am a writer who tells stories to herself as she runs.
I wonder what will come tomorrow.
I hear a piano playing.
I see snow falling, leaves twirling mid-air,tulips blomming, and the hot sun beating.
I want to learn a new language.
I am a writer who tells stories to herself as she runs.
I pretend to be different people in different places.
I feel nervous about being in the air.
I touch the delicate petals on a rose.
I worry about everyone being okay.
I cry when someone leaves us forever.
I am a writer who tells stories to herself as she runs.
I understand no one knows everything.
I say thanks for all my family and friends.
I dream about touching heaven through an arched glass ceiling.
I try to to write, laugh, and sing every day.
I hope to write a book.
I am a writer who tells stories to herself as she runs.
