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How She Changed Me

7/4/2015

1 Comment

 
By Abigail Beene
 


I couldn't tell if it was because she looked at me or I looked at her, 

But somewhere within those glances was so much love and so much compassion.

Onlookers could see it, dogs could smell it, and I could feel it. 

It rocked the once-still waters somewhere deep within my soul. 

It shook the once stable frame that held me. 

It destroyed my home and everything I owned. 

Gone was my comfort zone.

But we rebuilt it. It wasn't ash and stone for long.

We made it better. 

A comfortable discomfort. 

An exciting sway of my skeleton. 

A calming crash of the waves hidden in the pit of my stomach. 

A beautiful dance of butterflies floating with ease in my rib cage.

And you

You caused this roller coaster. 

Sweet torture

The best I've ever felt. 

Love and protection 

Seemingly unwaivered, though I am full of doubt. 

The doubt is where the torture was born

But the sweetness is how you changed it for the better



A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:  I am 15 years old and I live in Georgia. I've always had a knack for writing but I never thought I was talented or anything like that. Last semester I took Journalism at school and as an assignment we had to write some sort of poem or short story for a writing competition. I wasn't even going to do it so I began to draw. I drew a tattered and torn up heart and suddenly I was scribbling down words about how chaotic my heart can be. The finished product was a poem. I ended up turning that poem in. It was good. The way my teacher read it and gave it back to me with tears in her eyes told me that. I reread it over and over trying to figure out where it had come from because surely, I couldn't do that. Yet, I did. something inside of me just took over and I had created something that someone liked. The best part of the whole ordeal was that I had found an escape. When I write I don't feel anything. I don't hear the world. Im not stressed. When I write I drown all of my worries in ink. That's why I write.


1 Comment
Donal Mahoney link
7/3/2015 11:35:38 pm

Miss Abigail Beene,

I certainly wish at the age of 15 I could have written this well. I did not discover poetry till college, although years earlier I had come to love prose. In college I had to read Old English and Middle English, Shakespear and Chaucer, and I was not ready for that. But in the library stacks one day I read eight thin books by Gwendolyn Brooks who won the Pulitzer long ago for poetry. From their I moved on to T.S. Eliot and Seamus Heaney. Over the years two things have helped me. Read the best writers and don’t imitate them—just listen. And rewrite forever in keeping with Dylan Thomas’s advice that a poem is never finished simply abandoned. I sure hope to see more work of yours soon on this site and on others.

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