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Evil_Wench_97Poems
Here Is where I'm safe, Writing always safer, Somehow my pen can’t, stutter as my lips do, Words get stuck in throats, But never fingertips Curses instead of cursive, We won’t stumble across paper, We save that for our Unfolded rugs, Here we won’t fall off the edges, Because even if we do It has elegance, Balance idly follows poise That’s why we have our guides, Solid trails of blue lines Form our foundation, Making definite and clear, our ideas, thoughts, selves Reading this, you can't tell I’m crying, am i? Reading this you can't tell me I’m wrong, how can words be wrong? Thoughts can we catch them, Like thieves in the night Slipping In between the cracks, green eyed warriors with broken smiles, broken promises Thoughts becoming our subconscious bombs underground, unheard, We walk into no man’s land without a cover, stepping, testing our grounds, waiting for the blasts So we write about our past, romanticized Our future, anticipated We write ourselves a map because this time we’ll figure it out, this time, the words will make sense One day Words will whisper, tell us what we might not know, what we might not understand Tell us our present Can it be returned? Writing makes things clear our own words cannot hide the truth Writing is real, raw, ridged forever undisguised, It can be whatever it wants whatever we might need it to be, Either a "yours truly", or a "yours sincerely" or maybe it was never really ours Maybe it ends in "best regards…" Through written words alone we can understand ourselves, Open up closed doors, heal the cracks left behind, By our green eyed monsters that we never seem to find Emoting becomes a cure all, end all, of time, of silent sufferings We’re all born blind we don’t see what we don’t understand, what we never want to have to understand Until we write it down unhinge We stare into broken mirrors the reflection of our ideas, opinions, Unable to detect the fractions of light or the scars we like to keep covered Words, an honest to god friend Guiding, through those blue lines the hidden crooked valleys magnified by our storms our moments All the in-between white spaces missing pieces we look to fill with black, Making us finally learn to analyze to ask ourselves About those white li(n)es Opening ourselves, Trusting our words, to the unknown
0
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 5:24 PM UTC
The Unconventional Therapist
Here Is where I'm safe, Writing always safer, Somehow my pen can’t, stutter as my lips do, Words get stuck in throats, But never fingertips Curses instead of cursive, We won’t stumble across paper, We save that for our Unfolded rugs, Here we won’t fall off the edges, Because even if we do It has elegance, Balance idly follows poise That’s why we have our guides, Solid trails of blue lines Form our foundation, Making definite and clear, our ideas, thoughts, selves Reading this, you can't tell I’m crying, am i? Reading this you can't tell me I’m wrong, how can words be wrong? Thoughts can we catch them, Like thieves in the night Slipping In between the cracks, green eyed warriors with broken smiles, broken promises Thoughts becoming our subconscious bombs underground, unheard, We walk into no man’s land without a cover, stepping, testing our grounds, waiting for the blasts So we write about our past, romanticized Our future, anticipated We write ourselves a map because this time we’ll figure it out, this time, the words will make sense One day Words will whisper, tell us what we might not know, what we might not understand Tell us our present Can it be returned? Writing makes things clear our own words cannot hide the truth Writing is real, raw, ridged forever undisguised, It can be whatever it wants whatever we might need it to be, Either a "yours truly", or a "yours sincerely" or maybe it was never really ours Maybe it ends in "best regards…" Through written words alone we can understand ourselves, Open up closed doors, heal the cracks left behind, By our green eyed monsters that we never seem to find Emoting becomes a cure all, end all, of time, of silent sufferings We’re all born blind we don’t see what we don’t understand, what we never want to have to understand Until we write it down unhinge We stare into broken mirrors the reflection of our ideas, opinions, Unable to detect the fractions of light or the scars we like to keep covered Words, an honest to god friend Guiding, through those blue lines the hidden crooked valleys magnified by our storms our moments All the in-between white spaces missing pieces we look to fill with black, Making us finally learn to analyze to ask ourselves About those white li(n)es Opening ourselves, Trusting our words, to the unknown
Evil_Wench_97
Written by
Evil_Wench_97
26/F/Canadian
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 5:24 PM UTC
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