My father writes poetry with a flick of his wrist and a scribble of a pen,
My mother writes poetry with a voice full of love and happiness,
My sisters write with a laughter to their voice and a squeal here and there,
So why can't I?
The bees write poetry humming along their merry business,
The butterfly's, making colors in the air,
The crickets chirping in the night,
So why can't I?
The sound of the tress rustling in the wind is poetry,
The waves of the ocean crashing upon shore,
The creek racing to meet the river,
So why can't I?
Cars racing along the highway is the sound of poetry,
Trains squealing on the tracks,
Plans whooshing in the air above,
So why can't I?
The sound of the dog barking outside,
The cat meowing,
The birds singing,
All is poetry,
All write poetry,
So why can't I?
The sound of my pen moving across the paper,
The clicks of the keyboard,
The mumbling form a mouth,
Is that poetry?
Am I writing poetry?