What A Pretty Dirt Road



Looking back at the dusty road I travel,
I see old paths have changed.
My heart of yarn has unraveled
To string together a trail of color.

My footprints have been washed
Away by years of wind and rain.
I see painful memories,
But I look back without the same pain.

Recognizable faces of my past
Look at me quizzically,
And they begin to fade so fast.
I smile, and I watch them go free.

Mistakes urge me to regret
But I refuse to give in.
I’ve learned, and I won’t forget
That sometimes you have to lose to win.

That familiar feeling is just vapor;
I don’t want to run back to what used to be.
I turn around and I don’t waver,
As I pick up my feet and face the life in front of me.
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Submitted on May 01, 2011

Modified on March 05, 2023

41 sec read
1

Quick analysis:

Scheme AXXB XCXC DADE FGFG BEBE
Closest metre Iambic tetrameter
Characters 669
Words 138
Stanzas 5
Stanza Lengths 4, 4, 4, 4, 4

Rachel

I can't write about myself in third person, so let's make this an autobiography.I'm Rachel. I'm a nineteen year old college student. And, well, I'm pretty boring. I'm awkward, and I'm selfish. I'm both too serious and too whimsical. I'm hundreds of conflicts contained in a girl. I've only had one real love and I've been head over heels since I was fourteen (He's too stubborn to leave). Most things I write have a little of him between the lines. I'm trying to find my way through growing up and constantly fighting my instincts to pack up and runaway. I think too much and terrify myself. Life scares me and sometimes I forget to live. Insomnia and feeling lost led me here (it also led me to start blogging: http://growinguplostgirl.blogspot.com/)I'm here to grow so please critique anything and everything I post. The structure of my poems would probably give my old high school English teachers a heart attack. My punctuation, or lack there of, probably wouldn't make them feel any better. I get that people are very protective of their creations, but you can tear mine to shreds, as long as you respect the emotions behind them. Harsh criticism wont make me sob into a pillow, promise. more…

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