It all started out, seven years ago
You've been sidetracked, but still dreaming it though,
And told yourself, "You'll write when you're worthy,"
Which as time passes, had made you lonely.
You've conquered contests, isn't that a feat?
With your words, you've been dancing your own beat,
And look at all your friends, praising your works,
Yet you deny it, threw it in the murks.
Was it because of your fear of failure?
Was it because you note your voice impure?
And when you compose, do you flinch that hard,
You'd burn it all, call yourself a retard?
Now, look at you who found motivation,
Learnt things and labelled it innovation,
You've been one with the muse for quite some time,
That your thoughts and feelings began to rhyme.
You've been scribbling, for talent to nourish,
Now you see how your persona flourish,
You are the write wielder all along, rook,
And you can breathe life to this long-wished book.
YOU ARE READING
Nurture
Poetry"Do not strive to be popular, strive to be talented." A collection of poems I created during quarantine, as an attempt to grow as a writer, hence the name "Nurture".
