In every pencils that
I have used to draw lines,
in different colors and
in different hue,
different it maybe but
what a beautiful
combination they are
when together as one.

In every water color
I have used to draw,
when I was young.
The canvas got messy and
looks useless.
When they dried up
they come alive, and
it becomes a new life.

In every brush strokes of
colors that touches my life.
It made me laugh,
it made me cry,
it even made me mad but
I am thankful for touching
my life at least I know
I'm still alive.

In every charcoal I've tried,
all I did was to mess
things up on canvas,
but my sister told me
to keep trying.
I tried and tried but
I think I have to stop now.
I'm tired.

while walking through the park on a summers night

suddenly i saw a light so very bright

i walked a little closer to see what it could be

there i saw an angel there in front of me



she had great big wings with a bright halo

and a gown of white that gave off such a glow.

she had a golden harp and she began to play

i sat there and listened as she played away



a lovely melody playing there for me

made me feel so calm made me feel so free

when she finished playing she began to fly

to her angel home high up in the sky



i wont forget the angel and the song she played for me

its in my heart forever and my memory

When I was young,
I'm afraid to draw in
a white canvas.
Afraid to smear dirt on it.
Afraid to even try to draw a line.
Afraid, just afraid.

When I got brave
enough to draw a line.
I tried to draw at the back of
every calendar leaves that
my Mom tears down.
Afraid, still afraid.

When I got old enough
to be adventurous in life.
I bought pencils,
colored ones to try putting
colors in my drawings.
Afraid, very afraid.

Until One day,

I don't want to
draw anymore.

Not even a line.
Not even a dot.

I got broken.

tears keep falling
and I'm unsure why
there are bottled up feelings
deep down inside.
This usually doesn't occur
at least not to me,
I mean sometimes I'll cry
but not continuously...
I miss so many
and the past sometimes,
can hit me.
I feel excitement for the future,
a future that has us together.
Now my throat is hurting
from this unwanted weather.

Writing poetry for myself
That can made me cry
No raised eyebrows around

When the reasons are
Beautiful words of a poem
It felt good to cry with them

Tears that can wash away
The pain only sad heart keeps
Makes you softie to the core

**** that relatable poem
For they're the only thing
That said you're not alone

The world would read poems
Can't help but love them or
Hate them forevermore.