Where do
all those unexpressed
emotions go?

Do they die,
or maybe they just wander
around inside?

Is my heart
a grave yard...Or a town
full of words yearning
to be heard?

Sometimes...
I talk to the moon
And tell it all the things that I can't say to him...

The cold wind is here
Blowing strongly north to south
Hats pulled down tightly

She loves shiny things,
and perhaps that's the reason why
she adores all stars at night.

The only thing she doesn't like
is how all glittery magics disappear
when all her reals are gone
she was left to wipe
her eyes to dry.

Internetly
There's nothing I cannot be
I can pretend I am rich
Or young, or anyone
But me
But that doesn't work
With poetry
It strips me bare
For all to see