farming

I never thought  I knew everything, but I thought I knew more than this.

Where is my adventure? My mountain? My raison d'etre?

Where is the school that teaches "You better make life interesting or else?"

All I currently got, which separates me, is my words. Other people have words, but not mine.

Brave. I'm without it. Brave rhymes with behave, but behave is a slave.

I can be knocked down because my foundation is shaky in some places. I'm a jenga, a weeble wobble, a human being on a wavy stalk.

Comments

[Elizabeth]

must be the weather

[karen rechtschaffen]

Dear Amy, I love your poem. And as for the school, I have always thought that one makes one's own school.Which you are very good at doing. Love, Mom