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The Garden
Pushing me,
To the edge,
Of my breaking point,
Like I am falling,
Off a cliff.
“Teaching,” she tells me,
“Is not only about academics,
It is about life, too.”
At first I think she is wrong,
And she sends me back to my desk,
Because she hates me,
But then I start to realize,
That she cares.
I see the first rays of sunlight,
That I had yet to look at before,
Peering out from behind the clouds,
And rain,
Tickling the tips of my fingers.
As I watch,
I notice the beauty among the sky,
That I can finally see,
for I am not hidden in the dirt anymore.
As I look up,
I realize that I have been lying to myself.
I feel the wind,
Tugging at me,
Asking for play.
I can look down now,
See the grass,
And the dirt,
Where I used to lie.
Because people,
Can grow and blossom.
And I have.
I am different now.
I am flying within the birds.
I am free.
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When I first started writing this poem, I looked at the blank page on my computer screen and thought, "there is no way I could ever fill this page." It took me a while, but I finally stopped telling myself I couldn't write. This poem was the turning point for me as a writer. I had never thought I could accomplish work I would ever be proud of with a pencil and paper. Let this poem be a reminder to everyone out there who is struggling with a blank page that you can prove yourself wrong. There is a writer in all of us. The only difference between one another is that some suffocate our hunger to create a beautiful storyline, and others let it blossom under the light of their pencil.