Exactly like PeeWee Herman: I'm a poet, and don`t know it.
Except that I totally know I'm a poet, and seriously, you should hear my dope rhymes.
I am also without a penchant for public displays of self-love. Just to be clear.
Today, I thought I'd bring a little sunshine into your world with this poem I wrote when I was in grade 5. A big fan of Shel Silverstein, I really thought I was going to be a published writer. And now, every time I hit "Publish" on a blog entry, I get a giggle of satisfaction for making my dream come true, even if it is self-publishing. So what. I'm all about goals, people.
Sarah and her Pear
There once was a girl named Sarah Pott,
There were only two things she liked a lot,
She liked to share.
But never her pear.
She loved her pear,
It had yellow hair,
But beautiful, it was not.
It was ugly, the fault of Sarah Pott.
She went to her mother and cried and cried.
She cried so much, her mother lied.
She lied about that yellow hair,
She lied about that ugly pear.
The moral of this is plain to see,
A wise old woman shared it with me,
To avoid a fate like Sarah Pott,
Don't hoard your pear, for it will rot.
(In case you were wondering - her mother lied to her and said her pear was beautiful, when it was really a rotten, soggy mess. Also, when I wrote this, at age 9, I mixed up pears and potatoes, so the yellow hair would've been the growth of an old potato, but because pears don't work like that, I see a pear with fuzzy mold, instead - IMPROVISE, PEOPLE.)