June 8, 2008
By Gretchen LaCombe, Mobile, AL

I have talent.
I approve I do.
Be trenched in my words that confuse.
Be altered to my written curse.
It’s a verse.
My understanding to man.
It’s a gift.
A talent I’ve held in my hands.
Grab on to it,
Excite it,
Sleep and dream in it.
Take your own breath away.
Make your soul rise from the heart of which you can never lose .
They have spoken of me negatively.
They’ve thought of the worse.
They said I would never make it.
Those words, they hurt.
I am powerful;
If not, my words are the gladiators.
When I fall, they pick me up.
When I sleep my imagination corrupts.
It’s a blessing, I promise.
What its called?…
These are the shadows of which follow.
For they are trench in hate for they wont allow.
Allow their senses to delude their every incense .
Image of shame and pain.
Image of strength you know you’ll never gain.
Please be proud;
A hand needs to be clapped;
For I need the support for this gift I have wrapped.
It’s a piece of paper.
A half of my soul .
A whole of me.
An endless amount that counts slowly towards eternity.
This is me,
This is what I am,
But who are you when you’re your only fan

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