Collab, collab! Oh thoughtful collabs!
Amalgamation of two unique minds,
Merging of dual thinking labs!
Cerebral workshop of life's diverse grinds!
Collab, collab! Reinforced true!
Melding of minds and honed crafts,
Mounted up with bolt and *****!
Assembled solid in monochromed poetic drafts.
Collab, collab! A trend that's trending!
A fad that now seems ever growing...
Each other's style we will be wearing.
Matching ensembles, yours for the liking.
Collab, collab! More of it please!
Ocean of creativity, pearls ripe for picking,
Journey for two across artistic seas.
Wonder who with next I'll be swimming...
Tribute to all collab attempts!
Keep it up people!!! :)
My drafts are fully filled
With pieces of my heart
I can't seem to write a full poem
None seem to capture my mind
But as I look through my drafts
There's some knowledge that I can find
I can't seem to get it all out
No poem is good enough
But I hope to one day tell you
What message lays beneath the words
I can only wish my heart
Will let me write it out
the message: I'm Literally Incapable of Keeping Every Yesterday's Outspoken Unfrozen
Everyday is a rewrite, the opportunity to redraft the first verse. My purple high-tops strike the sidewalk as I converse in morse code.
Just a few thoughts can lead us astray.
Today I'm the poem walking upon a blank slate, re-painting the canvas within...
A Mediterranean heat warms my back.
Her laughter still echoes, another reminder of those sun-drenched days.
Mountain tops, snow covered...
A mountain-biker with the funky frame, the picnic bench, the poems.
Walking, wandering, contemplating the first draft.
A thousand story
to a thousand journey
a thousand pens
to the thousand poems
a thousand drafts
that leaves no mark
a thousand words
that no one hears
cause the other thousand
will cover them
I leave no mark to my drafts, Im sorry fallen ones
Recently, songbirds have been fleeing me,
and the rites of spring hasn't been comforting.
Now the end of September falls unto us, and it was your birthday
two days ago.
Though, you won't remember anything that happened in El Paso,
in March, in my stomach.
And the past, you say, still haunts you.
more scrapped drafts
Being born a woman with the looks of a man
Can get someone in all sorts of trouble.
I might get drafted to fight for an uncle I never had
Strictly because my shoulders are broad and youth hasn't left me.
Oh, but I'm no fighter.
Not in this life and not in the last.
My soul is one of peace and diplomacy, words my weapon of choice.
But they don't care about my poetry
Or the good it all can do.
They just want me for my brawn and firepower,
Fighting wars against an enemy less dangerous
Than our people's own government.
What a croc of **** that is.
I can't write...
I have a stash of twenty drafts, bearing a couple of lines each
I can't crack...
Every draft seem to have developed a shell I can't breach
I can't gather...
My thoughts so I could nurture these drafts to fruition
I can't think...
The clatter in my head meant only to deafen
I can't fathom...
What went right from what had gone completely awry
I can't find...
Much needed sanity to let soar and fly
I can't cry...
The tears I've beckoned for so very badly
I can't scream...
Only muffled gurgles of notions drowned at sea
I can't see...
The bigger picture...that consumed us both
I can't hear...
Except for the dreaded voice of reason that I loathe
I can't piece...
Together one decent little write
I can't breathe...
I can't breathe...*I'm losing this fight