I read between the lines
and linger on this page of poems

Each poetic soul
begging to be heard.
One wrote of their father
one wrote of grief
One wrote of their childhood homes
and the fear of who might leave.
I wont ever know your name,
but a piece of you I see.

It is beautiful
to bare your soul for the sake of art.
And so I linger between the lines,
basking in the product of your courage.

Sometimes i get a glance
in the mirror when the lights are low
my brows furrowed,
my breathing slow.
I get a glance of you.

It scares me terribly,
to get a glance of you.
I am but the apple,
who rots below the tree.

I feel sorry for my mom
Not for the bitter lady she has become
but the little girl who dreamt of bigger

I so fear that I will feel a slight relief
leaving flower at her grave.

The rose will die tomorrow
when the winter frost finally catches on

but today the fall sun still shines

I swim in a small pond
and there I find comfort
they tell me that I can only grow
as big as the pond I live in

but what is wrong with being small?
I like the small pond I swim in
for I know I wont grow if I go
I will drown.

No one ever shows you how fleeting it is
they warn you
they will shout those words into your ears until they bleed
but you wont listen until you see it for yourself
The next chapter comes even if you dont turn the page

Excited to read on.

Im back again
back in this hole
I seem to only write poetry when im not well
no one I know will see it.
But im back again

I want to say ive been here before
but I dont think ive been this deep
I want to say this is an old friend
the coping mechanism is so familiar
but does its teeth look bigger this time?

I wish I could come back on a better term
it seems like im never well
but really
I only write poetry when im not well.
Anyways, im back again.