I was always great in English
I was creative
I could write pretty well
And I learned to read at a younger age
Than most other kids

I always wanted to write
And one didn't often see me
Without a book in my hands
I was excited when I got into
The English honours class
I thrived in that class
At least, for a while

I'm not exactly sure when,
But a while ago,
Wether it was last spring or summer,
I don't recall,
I started not reading that much
I still loved books and continued to collect them
And fill up my already overflowing bookshelf
But they remained there unread
Growing dusty, longing for the touch of someone's hands
And, between homework and practicing trombone,
I started to abandon my reading hobby

It seemed that,
Maybe around the same time,
My writing skills were kind of
Evaporating
Fading away
I couldn't imagine writing a good, or even decent, story
Like the one I wrote that got me into English honours
That creativity disappeared

In the English honours class the next year
I wasn't sure if I belonged there
I didn't feel like I had the talent
Or a creative, colourful mind
Like the rest of the students
But people kept telling me
That I was smart
And stuff
And I was determined to stay in that class
So
I did
Just barely passing
I didn't feel like an English honours student

Now that school's done for the summer
And I don't have an audition to frantically practice for
I want to get back into reading
I don't think I'll be writing any stories
But I'm glad that I've found poetry
As my way of connecting
With the little shred of creativity that I have left
It's not like a lot of the poems I write are good,
But it feels good
To write down my thoughts like this

I still don't really feel
Like the person who had a talent for writing
The kid who was always told
That they were so smart
But I'll keep writing these words down
I'll write until I create some brilliant poem

And then I'll write some more.