If ever a poet lets you read their work -
beware, it's a trick; for they're
not showing you a poem at all:
They're cross-sectioning their heart,
contents spread apart;
inviting examination
into blood-vessels as
they bleed.

(C) 17/9/15
Courtney L

I find it funny how penning my thoughts is like therapy:
Because, while I leave myself vulnerable to criticism or praise,
it's like the pen connects to my veins and all the awful thoughts
leave as I commit pen to paper and my soul to the page.

(C) 27/10/15
Courtney L

The things I'm doing now because of you -
Who'd have thought I could subside my fears
with the assurance of your acceptance
whispered in my ear?
I didn't know this was within me -
I thought I'd succumbed to a life
of mediocrity; but here you've
got me shouting loud and
taking a stand for all
the things I believe
are true;
the most sincere to me, my
belief in you.

(C) 10/11/15
Courtney L

Swirling in the warm breeze
Leaves flashing orange and red, yellow and brown
Whispering air creeping up the buildings
Letting me know that it's autumn now
Tastes and scents, feelings and thoughts
Summer has passed and winter is yet to come
But for now the world is a colorful mess
When the sun has set and the day is done
I just remember this feeling
Autumn, in my bones, flowing through my hair
Autumn, the spiral of warmth in the cold
Autumn
--

remember the days of when we were younger
we thirsted from birth and we hunted with hunger
running and laughing under skies of thunder
we were sisters and brothers in a world of wonder