She keeps songs locked away in boxes like secrets. She will take them out like postcards to help her remember the feeling of a different time, a different person by her side. She likes the one that makes her eyes close to see the lights. She smiles at the one that makes her stand up on tiptoes, the one that helps her forget she doesn’t know what to do with her hands.
The tune will carry her.
Like it did the times when voices broke like a heart. When instruments’ strings would snap and hurt.
I used to read your poems but lately you don't write you're silent and aloof you know that isn't right. You can't close a door once opened you can't abolish all your dreams you're a poet of the heart mustn't fall apart at the seams. Say what you can in words they speak the message true spoken from the heart the poems will see you through. A hermit's not your style a recluse, you are not never give up writing of things that you've been taught. I used to read your poems I'd read them once again if you would send them out (this one's from a poet friend)
i spent my life trying to please someone with a twisted disease i broke myself down and tucked my feelings away to become the person they wanted me to be i let myself be watched through the glass of a two sided mirror of a sociopath i wallowed my spirit away and begged for acceptance but there’s nothing in the world that i could do to let the narcissist know that i am human too
the only thing that can please a narcissist is being miserable
I don't think as well when the noise goes around my cranium, Through my ears and into my skull where my brain resides, So when the sounds begin a journey that subsides, All of the thoughts come to light, Less frightened of silence.
I love him I tell myself I know that We will be together forever I don’t believe that We could be separated My thoughts tell me that He’s the love of my life Sometimes my heart lies and says I could live an eternity Without him Like my friends say “We’re perfect for each other” And you can’t tell me He’s not the one.
They said, "The most beautiful art is looking into someone's eyes when they talk about the things they love." And I said, "Or looking at someone you love. Or maybe, just maybe, by looking at the mirror is the most beautiful art anyone should appreciate."
Appreciation post for myself; for you and for everyone as well. You deserve more than the world has to offer.
If the wind is still Take my veins If lightning is still Take my smile If the sun is still Take my strength If courage is still Take my whispers If aspiration is still Take my body If art is still As I am whole Even when broken A masterpiece
I thought if I could swallow the stars I’d be as beautiful as the evening sky I tried one night with fireflies They burned my throat Their legs striking at soft flesh But my skin did not glow No moon crawled from my eye sockets I was left with corpses in my stomach I soon learned I would only ever be A cemetery
Whether a comma, or colon: Punctuation slows my rolling I need no period. When I end no Capitalization when I begin Rulelessly I flow my art Not a single! Exclamation mark Are you not the one Who'll know? Where a question mark No longer goes
Warp the structure Bend the lines Put in repeat Let emotion unwind Make yourself Your poetry's the best Be your own ruler Pass your own test
Take your own road Where ever it leads Lover or hater It's all poetry!
Traveler Tim .
Hay No matter who you are You have my deepest respect!
Vanity All is vanity The meanings of passion The aesthetic expression The lines we draw and stay within Even love is beyond intent Vanity transcends Flowing from our pens And so we breathe again
The wheels on the wagon rattled down a mountainous path. Through the trees you could see the still fires burning charcoal and sap. The moon shine was heavily guarded it was one hundred proof if not more. Her brother was ****** *******, after all that's what kin folk were for. Her pappy taught her to make white lightning, she worked for the sweat of her brow. She knew the grip of the law was a tightening she had to make her delivery some how. She carried a map of the county, she knew where to hold up and hide. She knew on her head was a bounty but she never broke down and cried. She had a good reputation along with a very good head. In her there was no degradation, she slept with a gun in her bed. Some folks just called her Maddy she was the pride of her town, sometimes you'll catch her drinking moonshine, when ever the law ain't around.
together the first flower bloomed with her sisters we watched it waver as storms weeped and weathered we planted more seeds of glowing hope wishing, one day we could see it flourish into a beautiful garden we could explore forever