Hair waving up and down in the wind,
paper flapping lightly.
Maybe I'll let it go,
maybe I'll let this poem be taken by the wind.
Maybe I'll write something from the heart
and release it.
No name,
no Title,
Just words that hurt;
words I'll soon forget.
I write them down,
but why do I keep them?
I should let them go,
forget.
The world would be a prettier place
if the garbage we pass on the street
was filled with beauty.
There's no point in keeping them,
rhyming thoughts
to remind me how sad I am.
There is no point in writing them down,
but nevertheless, I'll keep writing,
and I will hold the paper down
as the wind tries to pry it from me,
and I will promise not to let it go,
because somewhere in the depths of my heart,
these words matter.