Scribbles:

Written By:

Alexis Herrera

I started writing poetry when I was just a little girl—

 Small enough to know enough, and ready for the world.

 Pad of paper, lead in hand, eyes wide so I could see,

 I’d scribble down the bad, the good—to capture life around me.

I often thought my brain was broken—little focus I could hold,

 Drawn instead to stories, thoughts, and lessons to be told.

 My mind would drift, my thoughts would wander,

 Caught in quiet spells of ponder—

 Thinking of all that I fond, or

 Thinking nothing at all.

Time and time again I’d find

 My mind would float away,

 Whispering, wondering, thinking, pondering,

 Finding words to say.

Each word I wrote, each syllable,

Each carefully crafted phrase,

Would shoot from my head into my hand

And fill up every page.

My hand now aches, from each past pen—

There are imprints in my thumb,

From a little girl, from way back when

Who rhymed her fingers numb.

I started writing poetry when I was just a little girl—

Small enough to know enough, and ready for the world.

I’m older now, and do more than rhyme, but she’d be glad to see

I still scribble down the bad, the good—I still capture life around me.