Silence, I'd want all of it.
Running so fast after that button was missed
Too anxious to really make it a hit
Among everyone, there'd be admiration
A sun, or two.
But the work wasn't up to par for you
At least that's what I heard
I don't write for anyone, as blunt as that may seem
I still find myself looking for approval
For the work already created
I'm not looking for validation
To create and be creative
But often too afraid to strike out
In dissassaproval
Of work, I'm most vulnerable of.
I don't ever want to create a piece that has no resolution
To just leave an open wound or thought
Left to be just that
I feel obligated to share a brightening shade to my darkest moments
In order for someone to truly benefit from my shared work
That is why the pieces in my drafts, stay in draft.
But what I can tell you is,

I'm still not always ok.


I feel like my life is kept in the drafts folder.
Yeah, I'm always progressing in life, in the journey
Even in what seem like standstill moments
Of solitude and suffering.
But that's the thing,
I'm progressing
So isn't all work, published or not in life, still a "draft"?

None of our journies are over yet.
Let's share our drafts
And create our finished work, together

Relevant then hatred,
All at once in a different state
Portals and doors,
Your love for someone
Nobody can duplicate

Assorted adrenaline
Filed up in a contrasted room
Primal theories,
For selections that we may and may not pursue
Planets unite,
Though a few should be kept hidden
They stumble forwards and get installed in a granite,
Enchanting, yet a fearsome tinted enigma

Bolted in the word, "privacy",
And the key was a puma's race
Infidelity democracy,
Saved but aren't erased

Archived courses shall remain
May the forgotten be remembered in drunk mishaps
Only my feelings for you are sustained,
Permanent nor Temporary,
Located in the district called; a file of drafts

1:12:18

I don’t believe in size and fit
Or the split head’s of animals that
Cross the aching mind of the girl I’m with.
If its disease is blood then we’ve all got this
Same type of familiar sickness, just don’t Think that you won’t have to bother with it.

There’s a symptom, it shapes the skull
And wraps it with wire and twine. It’s just a Plaything or a ******* eating the fruit from The beasts and scarlet joys in the stashes
Of instant reliefs. Smooth arches off the

Feigning mood lines in the rough shadow
In your tourmaline corpse. Jostling in a glass bed of horror *** and crying as you wake up in a garden where nothing lives.
Shakes, too. Betting starvation and whet with the shivers in this strafe.

"Do you love me?" No.
Because the sun's still shining
And the Earth is spinning
I did, but now I don't.

"So much that it hurts?" No.
Because I finally managed
To move on
Past the things I used to hold on to.

"That it's scary?" No.
Because I've let go of everything
That included you, me,
And every little thing in between.

"I loved you." That's great.
"You rejected me." That's fine.
"I gave up." Congratulations.
Because I'd hate to have toxic people around me.

I try and recycle my broken thoughts
To construct a poetry
though most of them stay in drafts
some of them
get to shine

So many unfinished shows, stories, tweets, texts, posts, thoughts. Thoughts that were original but felt unpopular so they just hide, in the drafts until they are forgotten. For fear of criticism, hate, lack of likes. This life, isn't the one I want to live in. This writing. Isn't for you. It's for me.

When I met you, I was a draft.
An artwork to never be complete.
My eyes of charcoal
My veins of graphite
No color flowed through me for I was
Lifeless.

You opened up to me
You redesigned my thoughts.
Your paintbrush stroked a bright blush onto my cheeks
You turned me into
Bright pastels
With glorious indigos
Overwhelming scarlets
And mysterious lavenders.

You kissed me in a backdrop of
Forest greens.
You created scenery for
Every emotion,
Dressed me with rainbows,
And completed my blank spaces.
You turned me into a masterpiece.
But before you could sign your
Glorious painting
You realized
You could do better pieces
And pastel was over rated anyways.