My mother said my writing was good.
I told her she misunderstood.
She said even my father loved my words.
I promised to write one with discord.
Since his impression of poetry must contain rhymes,
I promised to make the words only intertwine.
I sat down to write,
But the page remained white.
I know not how to define what is good and what is bad;
I know only to write with what I have.
Sorry this post is late, I had a busy day yesterday! I think I have my groove back (as long as I didn’t jinx myself by typing that), and hope to not miss any more posts!