selfexpression
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A swirling pool of restless thoughts swim beneath the surface,
Walking down a low lit path, I’m looking for my purpose,
She sits,
On the edge of the cliff,
Looking down into the waters below.
She stands,
Looking as if she might jump.
She takes a step,
when people ask me who I am,
i always give tHem the correct answer.
the filtered Answer:
~i am ambiTious
"i work hard to bE a leader"
~i am honesT
"no lies from tHis gal."
Poetry is the path that self expression bleeds through.
Poetry is the emancipation of the soul.
Born in the Flame of the controversial state.
They try to burn my fate with bias hate.
Hey.
Hi
Are you ever going to answer me?
Daddy, I know I have screwed up alot, but please just say hi?
Mom a word that's supposed to mean safety,but to me it's the epitome of MAYBE,
MAYBE she'll be here tonight or tomorrow,
MAYBE out drinking, I'm thinking,
this word mom makes me feel irate,
At my high school, I was a guy that everybody knew.
Everybody would dap me up and say "That Boy Rube."
They could easliy point me out by the waves in my hair and the color of my shoes.
Dear Dad,
You're never there,
and you'd think I'm mad,
but I'd a;ways think You'd have time to spare,
for me.
Dear Dad,
can't you see,
you're the one I've never had.
The world has not seen who I really am
There is a fear whom one may know
I am a girl who is afraid to show
My laugh is loud and filled with joy
People see me as if I’m a toy
Fitting In.
Well what does that mean?
There are many meanings.
To relate just wonder,
but don't blunder.
You want to be part of a group
Have friends to relate too.
I don't make friends easily,
I don't put makeup on my clear face,
I don't have a sexual drive.
In teen words. I am pretty much a fail.
I assume I don't belong.
To be honest, everyone's so similar and
Like a flood you came crashing through my walls.
Giving me all the hope and optimism one should feel with love. You let your waters damage my insides, leaving stains and broken pictures in it's wake.
Master of words?
Not really.
Bringer of beauty?
Not always.
Carrier of messages?
I hope so.
When my wings got seared off by the sun,
when i free fell, saw the ashes of my hopes and dreams
gently floating after me, I thought I was done,
that the ocean would end my agony
The same brain, body and gender.
Having a light make-up,
We go out.
Wearing pink dresses and high-heels.
As usual...
jump head first into the
flaming inferno because he told you so
try not to sweat
when he calls you a pussy
let the third degree burns be a
reminder to never trust a soul
There are moments in the night when I wish for someone to lay next to me,
embrace me in their arms,
and not let me go till the moon finally takes its leave.
Music is everywhere:
In the grass,
In the wind,
In the books,
In the kin.
Even without acknowledment
they play their tunes,
not looking for acceptance,
nor appreciation.
Inside of me there is an asylum,
surrounded by a moat of milky light bulbs;
the only bridge burned long ago.
The dungeon holds a dragonfly
What is love?
his pitiful weeping, hunched shoulders shaking like a 9.5 earthquake
his pain, sudden and hot, the mind is blank, but the body still feels
his screams of agony, he'sdeadhe'sdeadhe'sdead
She looks like heaven
to me
She says no but that's okay
not everyone can see
The way her eyes shine in the morning
My skin,
my bones
are crumbling.
My remains
are
becoming dust.
And from my
decomposing
self,
I hope that
your flowers
will grow,
People keep trying to mold me into a star
Or a square
Or whatever it is they want me to be
It doesn’t matter
I’ll keep being me
And even if all I am is a straight line,
That’s just fine.
Feel the breeze sweep listfully forward
As you creep slowly toward,
That goal you see in you mind
Don't stress about the small things
Just focus and grow your wings,
Don't let anyone tell you "no"
You are always there...
When the sun starts its rise
The stars and paint merge their glows
The night's soft demise
As the surrealism flows
No matter how unreal
Whatever reality may be
I am fragile.
To look at me you would see a young woman standing at 5 ft. 3 inches and think
“Of course she is fragile.”
But no…
My stature does not determine my strength.
A hush without sounds
Envelopes me
As the static age of electricity
Screams and shrieks over my room
Out of the walls, the floor
And shush
For the sound
Is no more
Dance and writing are my outlets.
The two things that make me the happiest.
Two things I don't do nearly enough of.
Maybe that's why I feel sad, stuck,
Like something's pent-up, caged,
Because they are.
The tears burn my face because of pain I can’t erase
I dream of an escape these four walls are gonna take me
burry me alive without memories to tell I wonder when I die will I be accepted into hell?
No talking turns into
No singing turns into
No whisling turns into
No humming turns into
No noise turns into
No thinking turns into
No Learning.
We don't talk to annoy you.
I never have a free weekend to party or have fun
I work in the fields and don't stop until the day is done
From six in the morning till seven at night
Sit up straight, chin up, eyes straight ahead.
I feel like I'm in a pageant instead of a place of higher learning.
I've been here only a few months, but at times my spirit is filled with dread.
I started writing music when I was eleven.
First thing I wrote about,was the man up in heaven.
I never told anybody i was a writer,
I always thought somebody was going to hit me with the three striker.
Her electric soul,
her aching soul
is scared and shines a
cowardly light.
They call her humble,
humble and divine.
Who wouldn’t love a girl
with skin so fine?
So you ask, Why Do I Write ?
I write because I trust no one but my self.
I write because what I have to say is closer to the truth than what another says.
I write because its a stress reliever.
Poetry may be just described as words, words, and more words,
but did they really look beyond,
past the appearance,
looking more inwards,
to a place that can be unknown even to oneself,
I am a writer,
poetry is my soul:
I am a writer,
poetry came to me on its own.
I am a DREAMer,
my writing is my voice;
I am a DREAMer,
poetry runs my thoughts.
Do drugs make faces lie?
Does liquor deepen the hole?
Cut once to fill it.
When mirrors break,
glue can only dull shards.
Ink and lead are my voice,
From my mouth to ears is not my choice,
What I put to paper is my way
The spoken word - what I cannot say.
I write as an escape.It started with letter that I would use to flood out all of my emotions.They would be letters that would be specialized for different people.I was the only girl of three and the middle child too.
I did not grow up with poetry.I grew up with music.Yet, to me, the former is no different from the latter.
Toes waving in the pool of words beneath me.
Poetry is a living, breathing organism that haunts my every waking moment.
It thrives in the darkest recesses of my mind where it waits to be found.
It is my shadow.
I write because I can be happy
I write because I can be free
Writing helps me express unwanted & hidden feelings
Writing is what showcases ME
Shit happens I tell myself and move on
That basically sums up my life
It could always get worse so don't get yourself down
Life is a blessing
Every time something bad happens
I don't let it bother me
