So poetry isn't my chosen means of expression, but I'm warming up to it.

I have to write ballads and sonnets and dramatic monologues for my poetry class, but all I really want to write is stuff like this:

I have two trees in my backyard,
One is a conifer variety of trust,
The other a variegated truth.
The needles of the trust fell last season.
The evergreen is never green.
Not anymore.

The limbs of the trust are thick
But brittle.
When ice coats the bark,
Branches split and snap.
And the pulp is left exposed.
Freezing.

The variegated truth blooms and buds,
the seasons unheeded,
Leaves unfold to reveal --
Contrast.
Variations of little white lines.
Little white lies.

The branches of the truth yield easily
to gusts of wind.
Bounce back to announce:
Nothing has changed.
Air is just air, no matter the strength
Or velocity.