A writer for the right
But what if the write
is wrong?

and it doesn't matter
if anyone reads this or
not

It shall be a part of her soul
captured in words
Left behind for the world
Turning herself into something
more

tangible
something more real
something you can hold
something you can feel.

simply because no one else would,

and one day her soul will be all used up.

Your face is so clear
It's almost blank
Cold hard see-through
Looking glass
I stare through you
to the other side of the world
I can see the gases of Venus
Smooth and milky
Swirling and colliding with each other
as if the whole planet may just melt
away

A single drop of water
can contain thousands of microorganism.
Looking beyond the surface
to find
we have left our eyes behind.
Yet, we still believe everything ever proven to be true
Just as the Earth sits
a single drop of water,
falling from the sky into deep cerulean blue.

My feelings are words never written.
My thoughts are alive, never dead.
Yet, here lies a naked barren page before my fingertips
The way I would imagine I would lay within your bed.
The ways you taunt me and,
all I get is an embarrass red.
It continues to deepen and deepen,
to think of all the foolish things I've
said.

And the hardest part
is feeling as if you don't belong.
You write,
but, no one cares about your self expression.
You are not a tortured soul or a free spirit.
The only thing incredible about you,
is how incredibly ordinary you really are.
and you are.
You have no hopes, no talents, no dreams.
Only finding it increasingly difficult to find your place in this
elaborate scheme.
You think to yourself,
"Does everyone feel this way?, or is it just me?"
Constantly counting down the days until you can
just simply
*be