I don't fear personal growth.
Emotionally.
Mentally.
Physically.
Financially.

In growth, I feel like I can find
my stability.

What I fear is being stunted.
Forgotten in the soil
never basking in
the light.

✍

a spokesperson of history and
their own language

an adventurer who dare to brave the
unknown jungles and uncharted temples

a student who starts from nothing
and grows by learning more

a listener who can hear and hone
the sound of their own prose

a lover who always leaves their
mark on ****** papers

a waterbearer who pours their soul to make
readers see and feel the beauty of the ripple

one soul that can and will write
their way into multiple lives

a warrior who fights to conquer
their greatest enemy, self-doubt

a drinker who wishes to
forget reality

a crafter who hears, sees, sniffs, feels
and thinks through their fingers

a sadist who loves to whip their
readers with twists, turns, pain and agony

a ******* who revels in the beautiful
agony of words, drafts and revisions

The writer's language is all that and more
It can bring as much agony as well as galore
And a special few truly understand that
the writer's language is anything but bland

The writer's language

The Writer's Language

It truly is second to none

✍

I fell in love
You fell in lust
I broke your plans
You broke my trust

© JL Smith

Upon an oak
boat

I float on the sea
like a petal

swilling down
sun-kissed liquor

the gentle waves
rocking the boat

cleaning my
hanging feet

the kind winds
so cooling

The fingers of
light caress me

seemingly flirting
with my skin

The skies dawn
into a shade of blue

bright, clear and true
With closed eyes

I hear the whispers
of the sea's secrets

as my oak and I
wash up on shore

my feet meet the
sand first and then

my buttocks
the water strokes the

stones and the
belly of the oak

crashing back to make
sand angels with

the firewater in hand
I sigh close my

eyes and open my
mind to the magic

that is under the
golden sun

You shouldn't feel the need to apologise
for burning so brightly.

My soul is cast
eternally rose-bound

Chained to the one flower
that will ne'er wither

As I am in the world
of slumber

Awaiting to stir at the touch
of cold glass lips