Blood in the rain makes a watercolor,
   as does wine spilled on a letter from
   a lover.  "I'm leaving you" bleeds into
   an image of a heart that will become
   forgotten as it dries gone by morning's
   cold bath filled with your sacred blood.
   Family and friends warm tears mourning
   create the the drought after the flood.

How to become a poet:
Let someone rip your soul apart.
And in the need of mending ,
You will replace it with words.

This is not a poem;
This is an artist screaming to be heard in the abyss of life's harshest realities.

This is not romantic;
This is an artist learning to to be in love with her very self.

All this years, I have been trying so hard to create a person I could love.

Little did I realize, what I was looking for has always and-
will always be within me.

I think I've learnt to love myself.
I think I'm finally free.

This is a poem;
This is an artist screaming to be heard in the abyss of life's harshest realities.

This is romantic;
This is an artist learning to to be in love with her very self.

All this years, I have been trying so hard to create a person I could love.

Little did I realize, what I was looking for has always and-
will always be within me.

I think I've learnt to love myself.
I think I'm finally free.
I think-

— c.s wondering