The Story of My Life

A young women stumbles as she walks,
It seems that she’s clumsy as she talks.
At times she mumbles,
Quotes, poems, book titles, and on she rambles.

She is as independent as a burning flame,
Needing only a starting frame.
At times she seems so focused,
Much like a lingering locust.
She is kind and tender to those in need,
More willing then most to take the lead.

Glasses magnify her beautiful brown eyes,
Her clothes are dress-code complied.
With dark hair that seems to have no end,
Flows down in waves and transcends.

A family she has,
So strange, so crazy so filled with piazzas.
With a mother who teaches and a contractor for a father,
Thank goodness they are no longer together!
A sister who seems to be lost in the world,
but slowly coming into her own.

She lives by faith, with the symbol of her sins,
It is easy to find, as it lays under her chin.
She lifts her hands to speak,
It seems to be classes are twice a week.
Her hands so agile, so ready to sign; To speak to those that have no voice.
She wants you to know that everyone has a choice.


Okay, so I wrote that my senior year of High School for my English class.

All Is Not Lost

One must look inside of who they really are
to understand what they are capable of.
Some might be leaders,
followers or maybe the teachers.


As long as you always remember
who you truly are.
And stick to your morals,
anything (even your deepest desire),
is possible.
Because nothing is impossible.

As long as you really want it,
you will fight for it,
and as long as you fight,
all is not lost.

Love & Hate

Love can be found in the darkest alley,
As hate can be found in the brightess alley.
Not everything is black and white.
It is not always as you see it.
Eyes tend to play tricks on our hearts,
As our hearts play tricks on our minds.

Poetry is...

Poetry is a story, at times you have to read between the lines to appreciate it. It’s when there is emotion, anywhere from sad, discouraging or happy and wise, when poetry is at its best. The significance of poetry is not the thing being said, but the way it is being said.

I suppose people have a love/hate relationship with poetry, for the reason that at times it’s hard to write a poem with rhythm. Every so often you come across a poem that is hard to comprehend what is actually happening. Nevertheless, there is a lot of people that are passionate about poetry, and that can understand it word-for-word.

Personally, I love free verse poetry, when there is no right or wrong. My logic for that is,it's not fun to write, when you can’t put what you really want - because it doesn’t rhyme or have the current line count. Poetry to me is an outlet. For the reason that poetry can signify so much to one person, but the person beside you, will have no idea what your truly reading or writing.

Keep Breathing

There are these rare moments in life that are true glimpses of a perfect world. Maybe that perfection lies on a mountain under falling stars in the night sky with the person you love. Maybe that perfection lies in one last sunrise over the ocean with your family before one sun set.

Maybe that perfection lies in every little moment that makes all the other moments worth living. They are the moments that stay with us. Even if the people who were with us in those moments move on, change or leave us for some reason, they are always with us too. And neither life (as we all live and move on) nor death (as we all will die) can take that from us, for the moments may be fleeting, but the feeling is forever.

Goodnight world. Keep us all safe tonight wrapped up in those wonderful moments with the ones we’ve loved and lost. They are forever a part of our hearts no matter how painful losing them may have been.

All we can do is keep breathing.

                          [Ingrid Michaelson]