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Today a man told a **** joke.
Everyone laughed.
I stood there and thought about it for a moment
And then I asked,
"What is funny about that?"
The laughter stopped
and they stood there in silence.
The momentary silence of shattered illusions,
There was no answer
Because it wasn't funny
So why laugh?
He told me his love was like a religion: his heart a god and his embrace a prayer. He told me he'd shed some light on my dim world…

He didn't know that God has never been on my side and the stars had never aligned to answer my prayers. He didn't know that I liked the mind games I played and that a love like his was one to keep distanced.
Religiously charged and carefully played.
here's the thing about poetry,
there is no tangible definition.
there is no standard,
there is no normal.

each one of us are made of adjectives,
metaphorically speaking.
we are made of words,
that flow within the depths of our minds,
and reminds us what it's like to be alive.
each, a beautiful thought to think.

so i thank god for poetry,
because otherwise?
my thoughts wouldn't know,
where to go.
my creative writing teacher gave us 15 minutes to write a poem about poetry
 Aug 2015 Riley Lavender
In the depths of desire,
when love is drowning into unknown spheres;
There raises a lotus
in the form of 'Hope'
and helps love to stay afloat
Dig yourself
but not too much
or you'll be setting a* **grave
Haven't written in so many days though that is all I think about. No rhymes or ideas come no matter how much coffee I drink.
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