I can't write good poetry anymore.
Anytime I sit down and try to pound out a few words that might make someone feel
Any emotion really
Nothing special
Maybe just a small twinkle
Or a twinge
I come up lacking.
My former knack for the typed word has gone out the window.
Along with all of my worries and cares
Don't get me wrong
I still freak out
And cry sometimes
But I'm not sad anymore.
The deep emotions that I felt were unexpressed in the sad little heart of a girl that stopped existing a year ago are no longer struggling to escape from the tips of my brown little fingers.
The words flow as freely as the peace in my heart
Now that I've remembered what they are.
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 7:53 PM UTC
I can't write good poetry anymore.
Anytime I sit down and try to pound out a few words that might make someone feel
Any emotion really
Nothing special
Maybe just a small twinkle
Or a twinge
I come up lacking.
My former knack for the typed word has gone out the window.
Along with all of my worries and cares
Don't get me wrong
I still freak out
And cry sometimes
But I'm not sad anymore.
The deep emotions that I felt were unexpressed in the sad little heart of a girl that stopped existing a year ago are no longer struggling to escape from the tips of my brown little fingers.
The words flow as freely as the peace in my heart
Now that I've remembered what they are.
