Of all things, I am a sucker for a red lip
Especially when on a stranger
It makes me think, what are they thinking
And
Who is their perfect red lip for
But ill just be selfish and believe it’s for me
As I glance at their red lip from afar

Of all things, I am a sucker for a red lip
Especially when on a friend
That I hardly know
I still wonder who that red lip is for
And with my hello
I’ll still wish someone would wear a red lip for me

If I told you I loved you today it would mean nothing tomorrow.

Blowing the dust off of old poems, some that were never finished because who wants to listen to love soaked poetry?

Wringing out my thoughts onto paper for someone to read them. Making sure they mean something so someone can feel them.

The world is made up of poetry. Some get the chance to hear it and some have the chance to write it.

Only the lucky ones can feel it. So drift away in my words and hold them tight.

Sit alone and read them at night. Fall into my words and land in my thoughts.

One thing is for sure, we all die. But our words and poetry have a chance to live on.

Maybe, poets write because they have unstable feelings.
Maybe, poets write at 2am, in order to ease it.
Maybe, poets write to contain their feelings in to it.
Maybe, poets write *hopelessly.
Maybe, poets write at 2am hopelessly hoping, that, someone, on the other side of the earth, someone is awake to read the poem.

*And maybe someone awake, maybe, to care.

she was a young girl in this cruel cold world all she ever dreamed about was diamonds and pearls, She met a man he was great just for a week then when she was comfortable he put her on the street, told her to make his money so both of em could eat, she was scared so she did it hoping he would see that a girl like her didn't belong on the street's. She was wife material she had all these big dreams, sooner or later her dreams would fade, after all those nights of being on the street
she was sick
she was tired
she was lost
she was beat.
Hurting inside but nobody could see she faked a smile but her pain ran deep, she was done with the streets she was ready to leave but he put his 40 to her face and told her if she leave he'd pull the trigger and watch her bleed....................

I'm not exactly happy right now
But I'm not exactly crying
And I'm not exactly living right now
But I'm not well on my way to dying
And people collectively are not exactly good
But neither are they bad
And it's been a while since I've stood
But I'm not sitting down sad
Because I am not defined by one action
We are constantly changing, growing,
Into who we need to be
We are not one moment of pain or satisfaction
We simply are and I am, and knowing
Knowing that keeps me free