I'm the voice but she's the song
Forever until the last note.
-JE

High above the world I fly

Deep red against a bright blue sky

Such a shame I was let go

By a young girl

Who now I’ll never know

But oh did she cry

And her mother did try

But I was gone

Floating into space

Her daddy tried to keep up pace

But I was much too high

And much too fast

In a few years, I’ll be a thing of the past

She won’t even remember the day

She let a pretty red balloon get away

-JE

Welcome to the Garden of Voice

Where the flowers shout poetry

And the trees deliver prose

Where your ideas can flourish and grow.

The plants don’t judge

And the grass doesn’t gossip

Here you can write until the pen runs out.

-JE

I still love you and I don’t know how to stop

I see you every day and everywhere

you’re always there

in the back of my mind.

The thought of kissing someone else’s lips

Makes me want to gag

Yet the thought of kissing yours again

Hurts more than I can stand.

I never thought I’d fall so hard

I know this could be my fault,

I’m the one who left for school,

I’m the one who went away.

But I’m not the one who stopped giving my all

I’m not the one who faded away

I guess this might not be my fault ‘cause

I never stopped trying to love you

Even when you became nothing but a ghost.

-JE

If I had talent, I’d be a musician

I’d play for small crowds or big arenas

I’d be able to command the attention of an audience

I’d charge buckets of money or sometimes not charge a thing at all

If I had guts, I’d be an actress

I’d wear designer dresses to all the award shows

I’d become any character anyone could come up with and

I’d even move to LA or New York

I’d hide from paparazzi and enjoy every second

If I had grace, I’d be a dancer

I’d glide across the floor, making every step look effortless

I’d feel the music through my toes and in my heart

I’d have perfect pirouettes and flawless leaps

I’d be so beautiful

If I was braver I’d be a poet

I can write poems until my fingers bleed

String words together on lined paper

Watch them as they tumble from my pen

Sometimes I even wake up in the middle of the night

Just to write down some lines or stanzas

But no on ever reads them

I keep them tucked away in notebook after notebook

Hidden by school notes or doodles

I leave them all to collect dust

If I was braver, I’d be a poet

Instead I hide my poetry away from prying eyes

Out of fear, I let the pages rot

Until I lose myself in their wilted corners

And I can feel my soul begin to wilt as well

Through the rhymes I choose to ignore

To the poetry I give pieces of myself that no one will ever see

If I was braver, I’d be a poet

-JE