Poems from Moore Charlotte

I cannot express myselfNot the way letters have sounds And the way words have means Because means have ends. I cannot find a way to define...
You sit on the holy hollow thrown in my body. Calling for salvation, claiming camaraderie The internal tick I tend to mend,sits on my chest...
Poetry makes me want to drink wine.Wine makes me want to write poetry. Maybe it's because the assembly of wordsstillbond together, when the...
And it’s okay to be sad.It’s okay to be fucked up,but stop telling yourself that you’re damaged becausethat’s not a bad thing. Because I...
Instagram embodies a heart shell but negates to incarnate the beat.Rejecting its blood flow, Projecting its cell count to a matter of likes...