Some of us write to feel the pain,
Some to let it go.
Some write just because it rhymes,
Others just don’t know.
Nature and its beauty,
A graveyard with its ghost.
A dream of futures happy,
Passion is in most.
A poem that's so delicate
Words straight from a heart.
Only from a dreamer's soul,
Their words a work of art.
A poem is a gateway,
That leads into the mind,
A passage that is hard to reach,
And double hard to find.
But you can find it if you look
Into some troubled eyes,
You never know what each word means,
My lines are held-in cries.
But others could be just to say
"Hello", "Have a great day"
It just depends who’s writing,
And who might come their way.

first, sweet
then, sour
                                you grab me by my throat and make me cower
i freeze.
you do as you please.

happy thoughts I say,
             happy thoughts,
but here i am, writing from my dark place, the only places i ever seem to write from.

why is it so much easy to feel the darkness but never easy to see the light?

I lay awake at night,
allowing men who never deserved me to take up my headspace,
allowing myself to fill with poison.

they handed me the pills,
but i still decided to take them.