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.
must be the weather
Posted by: Elizabeth | February 11, 2008 at 01:10 PM
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
Posted by: karen rechtschaffen | February 09, 2008 at 07:05 AM