I know poems does not have to be rhyme, but I am rhyming mine.

It is just a preference that everyone has the right,
But rhyme or not rhyme a poem is poem when author recites.

Some are composed deep, imaginative or metaphoric,
Some are written simple, nonfigurative or realistic.

However it is wrote,
However it is composed,
Your gift of writing deserved to be exposed.

Let the words just flow,
Let your pen and paper do its work,
Someone might need and enjoy it folk,
So continue on, for you're doing great work.

Never stop creating for there are people waiting, appreciating and needing,
You are part of the community that will keep artistry living.

Yes, you heard it right,
you are an artist, just if you keep it alive,
If you read this, received this pat on the shoulder, for you from mine.

The glass wall between us,

Write upon it.

Teach me your wants and wishes.

I'll do the same.

As we fill the pane,

Your smile will become obstructed.

The stories will become muddled.

And when we run out of space to write,

We will wait for the barrier to shatter.

Even if the wall never falls,

I will find comfort in the darkness we

Created.

All I have is grown up thoughts now.
I don't see that girl anymore, that child.
That child was never a child.
Just a girl.


In an extremely different world.
The one she used to get away from the confusing pain.
She screamed, sobbed, and stared her way through life.


Knowing how others had pain, so she never complained.


The screaming was to release anger.
The crying was to show her heart.
The staring was to test if others could stare back and find something more within the "innocent happy child".


The girl had something that was magic.
Her kind of magic.


Music played around her, in her head, and everyday to be an escape.
It was never just an escape route, it was a road to feeling happiness.
The happiness she deserved,


That we deserve.


Now, still to this day, the girl listens to music...
Not because of the escape, adrenaline, or odd feeling of emotions;
It's all for the passion and love that she feels.


Music is her safest place,
It's more than a dream or a part of imagination.


It was God's gift to her path, it is the start of her story creation.

I feel like my life is stuck on Caps Lock.

What a disgrace.

All I want is to click Backspace.

I don't want to leave a trace,

Of the footprints in my past.

I just want a smooth life,

Where I can laugh.

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