Characters turn into words,
Turn into lines, turn into stanzas.
Letters hum in a phenomenal symphony
Orchestrated by a composer of much experience.
The beauty of it cannot be described or obtained,
Only viewed.
Creativity flows through my veins
Like blood as I attract
Pen to paper, a relationship unmatched by others.
As i scribe your presence, you start to fade from my memories,
Now only commemorated on a thin, vulnerable sheet.
With your appeal, you draw me in
and allow me to express my perspective whether I choose to or not.
You’re the catalyst of my reflections,
The canvas for my masterpiece.
The home for my thoughts.
The mirror to my reality.
You highlight growth
That simply would’ve been overlooked
By my blind, ignorant, human eyes.
You never judge or criticize me and my abilities,
Only act as a support system.
You make me proud of my accomplishments.
You make me proud of my writing.
You make me proud of me.
You make me “Me”.
You are me.
LoRon Pearson, age 16