A series of poems written at midnight
If I were to ever write a book that would be the name
But if we’re to ever write a book I would need the energy to finish it first
Maybe if I didn’t wrote stories at midnight then maybe I would be able to write a book
But then again when are you the most creatively functioning when your half asleep

Midnight dreams
If I were to write a song that would what it would be called
But if I were to ever write a song I’d have to learn to stop shaking as my hands hovered over the keys to my notes on my phone
But then again if I stopped shaking then I wouldn’t have anything to write about
Because your most creative when you talk about the experiences you have made and what they have left you with

Midnight talks
If I were to ever have a talk show that what it would be called
It if i were to ever have a talk show I would have to learn to talk infront of people with throwing up on myself
But then if I weren’t so scared I wouldn’t have any self deprecating jokes to talk because something about your pain makes people laugh
Because god most creative jokes come from the most pain you have felt

Maybe its something about midnight that keeps me going
The thought of me breaking the number one rule of my parents when I was young
‘Don’t stay up late’
Or maybe it’s the comfort I find in the dark that midnight brings to me
Or maybe it’s the fact that me being isolated while everyone sleeps reminds me that even the lonely souls have to talk to people every once in a while
Maybe it’s the thought of finding happiness in what is seen as evil

Let my past be published now,
I care for it no longer;
Look between my righteous things
To see I was the wronger.
Gather all the worries
I'd fret about in winter;
Shove them off the highest cliff,
Make them crack and splinter.

Traipsing in the gardenside,
Dancing in the hollow;
Feeling for a mason's nook,
Sweet Amontillado.
Down within the castle walls,
Down among the relics;
Bearded faces line the halls,
Lilting in Goidelic.

Slowing pace to stop and smell
Of a strange antiquity;
Thinking on a silver day
That happened once in Brittany.
Countrymen with muskets bared,
Bent on fiery shot,
Pounced upon the zealous rogues
Of Napoleonic lot.

Wand'ring mind, drop your guard,
Stop your nagging ways;
Hark! the drap'ry's bold aura
Welcomes warmer days.
Happiness is fleeting,
Sadness is extinct,
So let my every passing thought
Be mindful and succinct.

a series of impressions of yourself

she was an angel
with a grin of utter gold
and voice honey sweet

s.s

So, Medusa and I were discussing ways we can protect children on this site.  We want kids to have a place to express their art, and we don't want to stifle them, but we thought about how dangerous private messaging can be for kids.  
If a child says something publicly, here, we are all here to protect them from harassment of any kind, and we all will protect them, but what about private messages?  Any perv can send a private message to a child, and none of us will be there to help.  Maybe hello poetry should have a rule that children under 17 cannot receive or send private messages.  
Does anyone else think this will be helpful and safer for Kids?

these bruises
are beautiful
in a bad way

their pain
paints proof
of precious life
in delicate pops
of purples and blues

s.s