I have spent the morning rhyming with my 7 year old. His poems are vibrant and full of imagination. I love watching him become enlightened when he finds the word he is searching for. I adore that he loves reading and literature, even at such a young age.
It reminds me of my younger self. I remember writing poetry for my mum when I had been naughty. I used to leave her ‘sorry’ poems on her pillow. She always forgave me.
I believe I have had a relationship with words for as long as I remember. Writing provided a way to express how I felt, without having to visually confront the situation.
As I look at myself now, I realise that, my words are an extension of myself. I speak with the same confidence in which I write, however my persona is much different to my writing voice. In writing…
View original post 98 more words