Happy the times were when we were free of our troubles
Happy the times were when we rode around in the car with the wind in our hair.
Dancing in the rain in the middle of the street
Running in the sprinklers at the football field at night
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for a 13-year old, you are heading in the right direction with your poetic voice. the best advice i can possibly give you: READ READ READ READ, all the greats and write write write. crumble up the bad ones if you get upset, but don't toss them away. i've found crumbled up verses of Gold in old boxes that i thought were terrible at the time i wrote them. eventually you will learn the lessons you need from the masters, and move on to your own masterpieces.
Thanks for the advice. I appreciate it.