The art of the written word is everything.
Each letter is a tune,
A dance of the pen on paper,
The ink, the mark of a masterpiece.
Your brain connects to the pen
And they become one thing.
Thoughts are words not yet written,
Written words are those not yet spoken,
And whomever can harness both,
Is an artist
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 1:46 PM UTC
i grew up in a house of whispers and maybe that's why i still can't talk.
i grew up in a house of "hands to yourself" and maybe that's why i still don't like to be touched.
i grew up in a house of "daddy will visit again soon" and maybe that's why i still don't trust anyone.
i grew up in 6 different houses and maybe that's why i still have trouble calling this house a home.
they say "don't make a home out of a person" but i've never been able to make a home out of a house and i'm sick of being homeless
I GREW UP WAY TOO FAST AND MAYBE THAT'S WHY IM BROKEN.
i grew up in a house of held breaths and maybe that's why i still can't breathe.
i grew up in a house of "don't tell the kids at school" and maybe that's why my shoulders are still heavy.
i grew up in a house that was always empty and maybe that's why i'm still lonely.
i grew up in a house of "i'll be home later" and maybe that's why i still can't sleep.
i grew up in a house of "take care of your brother" and maybe that's why i still can't take care of myself.
i grew up in a house of lost photo albums and maybe that's why i still don't like having my picture taken.
i grew up in a house without any "i love you"s and maybe that's why i still don't love myself.
now i'm growing up in a house of "keep your head down" and "don't make him mad" and maybe that's why i haven't been able to look at anyone.
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 1:40 PM UTC
She’s walking this lonely road
Her passion turns to coal
The madness is taking over
The love thing is getting old
Her heart starts to shatter
As her truth start to unfold
Never realize she was selling her youth
For her gold
Her tattoos match her personality
They tell her they love her but here comes reality
She’s a *** she’s a **** she’s a masterpiece
But Picasso couldn’t live to stroke that catastrophe
-jeffrey A
Oct 15, 2014
Oct 15, 2014 at 1:37 PM UTC