I am made of memories
I am all the little scars on my knee, the freckles on my
shoulder, and the red tint still in my hair.
I am made of poems and words like sweet honeyed memories on my
I am a messenger, a carrier pigeon of remembering with bent
wings that still cut fast through the air
I am the chipped key on the piano with a worn out frame and yet
I am everyone that was lost along the way and all those left to
I am a leader that has no idea where I am going but will keep
trekking on through the pitch black unknown
I am someone who once was quiet until I learned to love words so
much that they started bursting from my mouth like butterflies
or sometimes wasps
I am a poet without a rhyme and only unfinished poems that
someday might be worthy of people's time
About the Author: Rowan Granger is fifteen years old and lives in Colorado.