Poetry is Me
I come with nothing but my name
No shield of pride, no bold demands
Just echoes I can’t still.
A thousand thoughts rise up like waves,
But only ink knows how to save
I am the grief that learns to sing,
The silent hope that blooms in spring
And when the final words are free,
The page will hold what eyes can’t see
The things I cannot flee.
But even then, I’ll rise once more
A poet spilling at her core
For poetry is me.
Copyright © Oriana Lezama | Year Posted 2025
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment