she was

the bright morning sky

she was

the sun shining bright

she was

the sky up high

like unfathomable light

she was

like a star

too far away to reach

she was me

and i used to be her

Many rusty keys,
Sit in a box with
Stories to tell.

This one leads
To a door
That hides
Forbidden
Fairy tales.

Be careful,
Close it
Fast behind you,
Or the dragon
Will follow
You out.

Another silver key,
Unlocks
Shattered Dreams
Put back together,
Piece by piece.

This one is
My favorite,
It leads you to
A place to rest
Your head,
It takes you
Away from
The day
And lets you
Hide
And
Find
A peaceful place,
To
Play.

we write because we are told
we write because we are cold

so why write poetry?

is it to obey
is it to simply misbehave
is it due today
is it more than what we say

if not
why do you write poetry?

because I can
&
because I am

we are made to feel
we are made to speak
some people are quiet
and others are bleak

words are expressive and alive
but some words are best left to die