Wrong Step.

This might be the start, a form of literary voice. Poetry has opened my heart, it makes my soul rejoice. But is it truly my call, when my parents had to struggle. For me to run they had to crawl, developing me to rid the trouble. Only for me to yearn for poetry, not the path I should follow. But without poems life's a misery, without writing existence is hollow. Oh' what could I do, should i make them proud. Or should I follow my heart's cue, my voice unheard I wish it was loud.