Being an artist
Is not so great
Because you have to relate to others
When no one relates to you

I guess its all understanding
Its sharing a meaning
Its being understood
When you don't understand yourself

And really
It's not a choice
A blessing or a curse
It's just finding a voice

I love you
I just wish I knew how to show it

The crow on the telephone wire
He doesn't sing
He just calls out warnings
Because he knows death is coming

The crow on the statue
Was singing
Songs about death
Something we don't understand

Songs about life
And how we live it wrong

Its a mixed-up
Mashed-up
Crazy world

But we still find meaning

Its a painful
Sorrowful
Lonely life

But we still find joy

No.
I just want a,
coffee nor a cigarette.
And a bed to where I could stay all day,
and let myself dive into your arms.

I could use my day offs,
Just to spend more time with you, and only you.
Whose body was to be thank with.
I could stare at you,
whose, eyes are mixed with green and blue.

And kiss you,
and hug you,
and sleep with you.

But, all of this will remain as my beautiful nightmare,
For you, I was no longer a meaning.
And you just treated me as a game on truth or dare,
I'm inlove with you and I hated this feeling.


- 12102k15

We are three waiting
For the event to begin
Two are peering over
Their android phones
And I started
Writing a poem
With pen on paper
The talk ensues
Covering the Wi Fi
And now I could hear
Clearly the fingers
Tapping the messages
I too am busy
In a way lousy
Engrossed in poesy!

I stand before you
accused by some fool.
You call me a witch,
but I say you are foolish to agree.
I but a simple girl
I mean harm to no one.
You demand I confess to my sins of witchcraft
I'm firm when I look you the eye and tell you,
“ I cannot”.
I go three days and three nights
with only water and some stale bread
in the damp dark of the jail.
I almost fear my hunger has made me mad
when I see your face appear at my cell.
Though am weak,
I rise to greet your scornful face.
Again, you demand I confess.
You wish to make an example of me.
Yet again I look  you in the eye and reply;
“ I  cannot."
You storm out in anger raving about how I shall hang,
but I will not be tried for something I did not do.
I will not ruin my name for the games of the fool.
I stand at the gallows and you demand one last time my confession
A single tear rolls down my face as I look to the crowd gathered to see my end.
Standing tall, I whisper
“I cannot.”
s.s.

and this is what i feared
that you wouldn't feel this near
and i admit I've shed a tear
but you're worth that my dear

these shoes have walked a bit
maybe too far i admit
but i know id never quit
running these miles for you