I remember in fifth grade, I wrote my first song,

And I made the mistake of writing about my mom.

See my teacher wanted an essay, real academic and terse,

But I learned emotional prose gets messy, I had to write a verse.

I turned that thing in, only like a dozen line,

My teacher handed it back and said I need to revise.

I tried to tell her it was perfect, if she read it she'd cry,

She gave up and took it, with doubt in her eyes.

I eagerly watched her, I had such pride in those lines,

Saw her go down the page, traced the gaze in her eyes.

I assumed she'd realize how hard I had tried, little white lies and emotional ties,

But she handed it back with an F, and said not everything could rhyme.

Tears filled my eyes, dreams started to die, couldn't be creative, and I didn't know why,

Wanted to write about my mom, her impact on my life, like ten years old and told I can't rhyme.

I was disappointed but didn't cry, took it as a challenge, wouldn't let her be right,

Ten years ago, but still fresh in my mind, still think about it every time I write a line.

Look at me now, still writing but now about you,

Love song or hate song, it's neither of the two.

It's more of a thank you, failed me and motivated too,

But get lost Mrs. Lewis, don't tell me what I can't do.