it's what i call nostalgia

i used to write poetry,
back when i was a disturbed teener. (now i blog. XD)
okay, so not really 'disturbed', more of what all teenagers go through~misunderstood.
i wrote emo-ish freestyle poetry and posted them on darkpoetry.
i kept some of my work, but they seem to be lost now, ever since our computer crashed last year.

now, i've been cleaning my room, throwing out all the junk i horded through the years so that i could fit all that represents my life into a box not exceeding 50lbs and 30lbs for my carry-on.

the relevance of the earlier sentence is~
i found some of my poetry. and i would like to share one that does not entirely show my 'dark' or 'misunderstood' years.^^

i love this because my lit. teacher in 9th grade discovered this tucked away at the back of my journal for his class.

this were my lines (it pretty much shows what a pessimist i am.):
The beauty of a rose.
The finality of its death.
Just a brief instant,
When its beauty took your breath.

and this was his answer:
Past the brittle petal,
Beyond its withered husk,
There lies the beauty of a rose.
The moment never truly passes,
The memories never really fade.

i was going through a difficult time when he gave my journal back to me.
and somehow, the poem helped me through.
i related the rose to life.
and i never had the chance to really say 'thank you.'
if i ever get back to JFK Highschool, i'd definitely look him up..