Words, have a strong meaning,
More than letters, more of a feeling,
Poetry is my voice, of what I’m unable to say,
Like an art exhibition, with my life on display.
Rhyming maybe, insignificant for others,
But it’s self therapy, to discover,
So I’ll write it down, or I’ll do a rhyme,
Whatever I’m feeling, at the time.
Poetry became, my own release,
To help me find, some inner peace,
Shutting the door, mind to paper,
Rhyming becomes, my translator.