By: Sidney Mansueto

Feasting on fear and a lack of confidence, 

I see the words and dislike their sound 

What if no one can resonate? 

The page crumbles, as forced by my fist 

Alive is the love I have for the art 

And the freedom I have 

To turn everything around 

The number two pencil rolls 

Gliding, I grasp it tightly 

I whisper, “I will”. 

Words flow, eloquent 

As this rhythm is 

Pride beams 

Eyes glare at the beauty 

Of the poem I call 

finished