Descriptive Essay About Love

1448 Words6 Pages
Fifth grade started it all, the pain the lied beneath my journal was more than descriptive words it was my story. At the age of ten, my uncle was addicted my body type he used to just stared at my figure, and when I would catch him staring he would pretend to not care. When I turned twelve he showed my porn for the first time, that was the first time I wrote about something so detail it made me cry. “A piece of me wanted to sink into the floor he was stroking my hands, my heart couldn’t take no more.” He asked me one question that is piercing in my heart to this day, “do you like what you see” I promise myself to obey. I listen to his every command and went to my room I fell asleep listening to his secular music he was giving my heart the blues.…show more content…
A poem had no restriction, a poem just had feeling and desires base on the reader. Poetry left the person with one thought it was how you perceive it. I love it. Every waking moment I listen to Maya Angelou, I met her and she told her life story and it blew me away, she was such a phenomenal person. Even though she was my poetry hero, my oldest aunt set the foundation. My aunt actually publish her own book of poetry, it wasn’t as successful as she hopes but it was amazing to me. One day I was at her house writing and she asks me could she read it, I title the poem, Hurt. “Something is dead inside. It’s crawling inside of me, its curling up to die. It sits in the corner of the soul, this dark place never wanting to let go of the hurt inside. This hurt is producing growth, rather I run and hide or produce enough courage to rise up in the die. This hurt inside of my could never lie. It could only dream of one becoming something unfamiliar transforming into the peace that would be familiar, but when I finally open up my mouth to speak that hurt began to speak. I am hurting inside and painting a happy face on the outside, blending in with the world so they could not take a peek at this hurtful heart that lies beneath me.” I was thirteen when I wrote hurt, the first time I made my aunt look at me different, the first time I made her cry. She took interest in the fact that even though I wasn’t as talkative and sociable was the rest of my siblings I was something special. She encouraged me to keep writing in a sense that pulled your audience toward you, I went to my first poetry lounge that week. It was amazing people actually reading what they wrote, not being afraid of what the outcome they was just up there speaking of their piece. I spoke slang, standard English wasn’t popular where I came from it was broken grammar. I came from a family where the eleventh grade was the highest school level our parents attended, so speaking was
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