I knew a girl who liked to draw,
She drew pictures that no one saw,
She was most artistic late at night,
In the bathroom, out of sight
She kept a secret no one knew
She didn't tell a soul and her gallery grew,
Her drawings were different, no paper or pen.
But needed a bandage every now and again,
We stood by the river under the stars,
She rolled up her sleeves and showed me her scars,
She felt embarrassed and looked at her shoe,
I rolled up my sleeves and said, "I draw too".

They teach us how to draw lines                                                                                 In the beginning of our childhood,but                                                                         We turn these pretty lines into puzzles and                                                                Into zigzag lines anytime ...                                                                                            Lines are like squares and circles ,but                                                                         They are still not shaped ...                                                                                             We shape lines differently turning them                                                                     Into all kinds of shapes                                                                                                   Simply because we want to make                                                                                 Different worlds that don't like our worlds ...                                                            We ,as adults,draw lines and shapes that                                                                 Suit everyone of us' world ...                                                                                       Our intentions draw our life's lines ,but                                                                      With our own hands ...                                                                                                 Our lines might bad or they might be bad                                                              Depending on our intentions ...                                                                                    We have all colorful lines                                                                                             Starting from the rainbow's colors and they never end ...                                        Everyday we draw our lines                                                                                     Openly and secretly ...                                                                                               There are those red lines that some people dare                                                         To cross anytime and                                                                                                   There are those wars' lines that we all draw anytime ...                                             Where are those of any peace's lines ?!                                                                     All of our life is full of many lines ,but                                                                         It depends ...                                                                                                                  Lines can straight lines or zigzag lines ,but                                                                Our minds' lines are vague and difficult ...                                                                We draw our lines with                                                                                             Our hands anytime,anywhere,and everywhere ...                                                     We are inevitably the good-doers and                                                                       Some of us are the evil-doers ...                                                                                    ___________________­__

Narcoleptic storyteller living the dream; it's a ******* nightmare.
Dark eclectic gory hell or giving up steam; watered luck is right there.
Appear today; drawn tomorrow
I could tell which words you borrow
Inconvenienced shades of gray
Eighty shades of sorrow weigh
today, which way to say,
I will stay here when you stray hear
they may play fear, bray they pay dear
Ever listen on to bold tomorrows.

With dusty wings
and awkward flight
Your tiny buffalo body
bounces on the
delicate glass surface.
An exaggerated shadow
announces your plight.
Is it the beauty of
the butterfly
that spurs you.
Why so frustrated;
so persistent?
Do you know of emotion?
Maybe you do,
and it is your own
dark turmoil
that draws you to the
glass skirted flame.

Her hair
Like a black silk
It flows to her shoulders
And stops abruptly
Her eyes a brown like dark chocolate
Hidden behind rectangular glasses
Her face a yellow tan
Her hand on a keyboard
Typing up poems
I never could
Describing people
In a light of beauty
Telling stories
With unexplainable expression
She paints
With her heart
And draws
With her soul
She plays a piano
Like she speaks
Fluently
Proudly
And powerful
But it is not a matter of the things she can do
It is a matter of who she does them for
It is not a matter of how well she does them
But a matter of her trying
So I see her
And I do not envy her
Because it is enough to know her
That I don't want to be her

I remember that day,
As the sun rose in the open bay.
Its warmness embracing me,
Keeping me lost in its beauty.

These memories stay with  me,
forever wanting me to go on,
to never give up,
to always strive for more.

So I pick up that chalk,
as I stare at that blank board,
and there I make my mark,
with this heart.

A heart that motivates me,
a heart that glows in me,
For its my art,
that passionate me,
keeps in all my heart.

sweetheart, your hands are shaking.
where did your courage go?
you used to be so strong.
how did you lose your fire?
won't you please put down the bottle.
please pick up your pencil and draw.
draw me a cloud that i can sit upon,
and watch you grow.
your art means something to me.
oh honey, when did you let the world change you?
you promised you could do it.
why did you stop trying to find beauty?
it is there, under the blankets.
please look inside because there is more.
it hurts me to see you so desolate.
i wanted more for you,
i wanted you to see the world and to paint it.
don't let your talent go to waste.
i love you.

I drew a picture,
so simple and clean.

I drew on it canvas,
so ugly and mean.

I drew with it crayon
with red and black.

I drew it with anger
with a knife in my back.

I drew from my mind
and things that you hid.

I drew from inside
and hole that you dig.

I drew a picture,
thought it was cute.

I drew it on canvas,
thought I killed you.