Some are most creative and beyond comprehension
For they are that talented
Some have that magic naturally
Some hoping to create and find their way
Their impact makes us better writers
You can agree to disagree
Just read and enjoy
The pleasure of reading and enjoying the talent is so much better
than the so -called talent we tune into to see
Not asking you to tune out but tune into what happens here
Hello Poetry Poets
Thanks

A song is sung
A song is felt
Constantly heard,
From the chirps of birds
Birds dance
Birds sing
Emotions are felt
Through the song they sing

If you listen it’s there
If you feel it, It’s felt
But do are you really feeling it?
Do you really listen to the bird’s song?

A dance, A song
You watch as it plays along
Colors flash as pitch change
A song is just a song
While the birds sing

I don't love you
But I love you so much
I am trying

I used to draw on my arm all the time
Nothing big or elaborate
Just a triangle
One triangle
Then I wouldn’t hear the end of it
Everyone complaining
Ink poisoning
Future punk
What’s next, a motorcycle?
So I stopped
I stopped drawing that little triangle on my wrist
Right above my pulse point
But with it
I
Stopped
L I v I n g.
A triangle was supposed to be the strongest shape
It was supposed to make me strong
But I wasn’t even strong enough
To let it stay

some people's footsteps are loud
they want everyone to know that they have entered
or perhaps they have no reason to hide
They strike the ground first with their heel
you can always hear them approach

but mine?
my footsteps are silent
I glide across without a sound
no one needs to know that I am here
I have reason to hide
I tread first with the pads of my feet
you will never hear me approach

breathe
do you feel your lungs expanding?
do you feel you chest rising?
open
open your eyes
do you see the sun?
the moon?
the stars?
the clouds?
all of them were made for you
you
wonderful
       beautiful
                lovely
                                ­           YOU
sincerely,
someone who cares

Almost 600 poems,
On my way to 700,
Yet some how,
I haven’t written the same thing twice.

(Ignore the sunset poems)

you rip apart the seams of this family
you are a hurricane and we are the destruction in your wake
you are a wildfire and we are burned
you are an earthquake but you aren't the one rattled
you have caused mass destruction and singed everyone you touched
you hate us
you natural disaster

The pressure to create constantly
makes those creations feel disposable