BECOMING POEMS

I am not a spell bee winner

I would spell a friend as freind

“I” cannot preside

The disorder of my grammar

Double “c” in the conscience

Continued to con, science……

Knowledge always began with a

Silent letter, not to be pronounced

I wrote rhymes and felt they

Had no reason to clang

I used the biggest words

Not wanting to be understood

No one knew their spellings

nor meanings….

Fiddle Dee Dee , love or die

No one gives a damn….

Words are anemic and hollow

Yet I live inside them

My weak words were on flight

Without an atlas

A compass needle was the Sun

In the sky

You did not touch my words

They were the leaves of a

“Touch me not” plant

You caressed my words

with your words

hands writing with out

crossing my words

Understanding every mistake

Completing the blinking gaps

Smudged with tears

Now, they have become poems…..!