I have recently discovered a lot of old writing from High School, I’m actually a bit impressed with 12 

year old me. 
The first ‘real’ poem I wrote, from 2004
It walked through  the door,
It walked on the grass.
It looked to the floor,
It looked through glass.
But through the glass what did it see,
A girl of pure simplicity.
For, in the chair,
Dressed in pure white.
She seemed only dead,
An angel of the night.
With her red cherry lips,
She seemed to live to excite.
And as it focused on the girl,
And as it eyes streamed.
The girl soon awoke,
The girl of its dreams.
As she looked out the window,
What did she see.
A painting of mist,
Stretching from you to me.
From the window came cold of ice and of snow,
But from the house came her angel like glow.

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