Poetry is my thing.

The way the lines snap together like magnets,

Clear and rhythmic,

But also smooth and strangely interweaving.

Twisted together like a ball of colorful yarn.

In these lines that are a syllable away from disorder,

An orderly mess of metaphor and mood

But just chaotic enough to work

I can inject my meaning,

My voice.

Poetry is my thing, but it’s not for everyone.

This thing is not for everyone, but everyone has something — 

Painting, maybe, or drawing,

Singing and songwriting,

Storytelling, or essay-writing, or math, or  

Just a good conversation.

Your something is just as good and powerful as another

But no something can ever be anything if you never let it show.

-Julianna Baldo


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