Let us just be clear about one thing: I do not consider myself a poet. Personally, I think my talents (or maybe I should say passion) lies within fiction. However, I decided to post this poem because it helps you guys get to know me a little bit more.
At twelve years old, the oppression
Of skirts hovered over. An ominous
Nimbus cloud, holding hostage the hope
And hurrying me to my silent shell. To stay.
Thick cloth itching my ankles like a
Cat at a party, under the table.
Skirts to church. Week after week,
Month after month, Year after year,
Sunday after Sunday, ‘til I break free!
Relinquish the chains of inky velvet
So unfriendly on a windy day.
Mother’s modesty, meant with love,
Endured as boot camp. Isolation
Ensued and books became best friends
And imagination my sharpest tool.
Despite many siblings, depression pulled
Me down, down, down. I couldn’t
Crack the surface. My laugh broke.
Frodo on his quest, lowered a rope,
Pulled me in, gave me a home
In Middle-Earth. If Tolkien could
Save me, I can save others, with words.
So, that’s my groundswell, when a hobbit
Hauled on his rope, and I grabbed it.
Feedback is always welcome! 🙂 (Especially as I am a noob at poetry)