A few minutes ago, I had a strange feeling. It felt familiar. It was the feeling I got when I wanted to write. I was feeling quite nostalgic, but it was an unusual kind. I wasn't sad about how much I missed the past. I was more concerned about how much I might. It's really difficult to explain, so I just started writing. I haven't written a poem in a REALLY long time, but it felt good to do it again. Even if some people don't think it's that great, I think that no one should mind. I feel that poems are written to express emotion. That's what makes one really good. Or at least that's my perspective on them.
Dreams that I hope could be
Some impossible, you might say
But what if I had hope to stay
Then a concern came to me
It was a question for Reality
So I asked very quietly,
If they had room for fools like me
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