I look now and see that child I use to be,
writing poems of simple little words,
there on the page to be seen just by me.
I wrote of love, and hate,
of war and so much more,
There I tried to understand,
as a child, can only see
so innocently,
with wide open eyes,
and mind still not solidified
questioning this world,
in which I found,
many answers for my young mind
to only know, and now
as I look back I smile,
over all I wrote, and see the woman I have become,
the seeds had been sown there,
within those words that I wrote.
Yes, the poet- self dwelled there.
