You were sad my whole life. Angry too, though you didn't show it until the bone pain wore you down. Then you opened fire. "You ****** girl, never could do things right. Look at you, fat as a **** pig, no one will ever want you." I knelt down next to you, inside the stench of cancer. It had eaten you down to the size of a six-year-old, still wearing your eighty-year-old face. You didn't understand that you didn't understand I have been sad my whole life too.
Poems aren't written, they're found, Somewhere in your head the words are waiting, They're sprawled across the floor, You just need to pick them up, Make a path with them, Let your path guide observers, And if you can't write, Walk down somebody's else's path first,
First poem I've written, to anybody who reads this is hope you enjoyed it and it made you day a little better
A time will come when I'm barren inside. Every sound would remind me that I am hopeful
I am rain, hoping for shelter I am the running breeze. Screaming, unabashed. I would confess all those **** truths, about living and loving and forgetting and be fearless, senseless. aimless, being just for the sake of being