I was a dreamy-eyed twelve-year-old with a pencil in hand.
Constant plot-lines filled my head in ways that made it rather crammed.
Writing novels was at the forefront of my mind; it was grand.
---
Stories would come to life once wrote on journal pages as planned.
At the time, my handwriting was immature and often jammed.
I was a dreamy-eyed twelve-year-old with a pencil in hand.
---
Given my age, there were times I fell upon an unknown land.
When my lack of knowledge threw me for a loop, I'd end up jammed.
Writing novels was at the forefront of my mind; it was grand.
---
I lacked worldly experience of going through things firsthand.
I didn't want to feel fraudulent in my writing like I scammed.
I was a dreamy-eyed twelve-year-old with a pencil in hand.
---
It was hard to write with insight from jobs I didn't understand.
But I could then create workplace systems as though I programmed.
Writing novels was at the forefront of my mind; it was grand.
---
There was so much information I could create and expand.
It was like a dreamland on weekends that I could diagram.
I was a dreamy-eyed twelve-year-old with a pencil in hand.
Writing novels was at the forefront of my mind; it was grand.
YOU ARE READING
Grains of Graphite Book 1
PoetryGrains of Graphite is a North American poetry collection focusing on a wide range of emotions, many of which are intimate.
