Ms. Duffy

I remember hours spent
sat at wooden desks,
Alone amongst a sea of
dull faces.
I remember bored voices,
Reading the words that
jumped and danced on the page
with a single, tired tone.
But for me,
It was never like that.
The markings on the paper
set a fire in my mind,
With breathy voices gasping
the passion and the pain,
Raw emotion spilling from
Your heart to mine,
As if I knew you,
And you me.

In these hours,
Amongst the bored and
the tired and the struggling,
The world moved
And in myself,
A poet
Was born.



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