Head of a bold pen
writing on a whim
with no deadline
Paper and lines
in front of your eyes
all of the time

**Creating this life

Blessed that I received rest
that some do not acquire
My toes curling on each fuzzy stair step I make my way up
as my nose follows the familiar scent of coffee beans
I'm drowsy from the dawn sun playing coy
Snug as I could be from the burning wood

Welcome to Hello Poetry
and thanks for following me.
I know it can be tough when you start,
but your poems are always great if they are from the heart.
You'll stay up late awake at night
staring at your computer light
with no thoughts coming to your mind,
ticking your fingers on the keyboard while your teeth grind.
This poem is a thanks
for the times you deal with blanks.
The times you know are tough,
I, too, am familiar with how rough
that feels.
And I swear it never heals,
only goes away temporarily
just to smack you more disparagingly.

So, here's to the poets
who are so fixated on blemishes that they don't even know it.

I need to get up, I need to get up!
Go upstairs and grab a cup.
Pour myself some coffee,
and listen to mom get bossy.
I will, I will!
Let me just take my pill.
Grab the adderall,
now I can do it all!
Eventually, Eventually!
I should probably mention something about me.
Sleep is my favorite thing to be,
but these drugs sure do get me glee.
I'm up, I'm up!*
I'm washing the tub.
I'm getting the dirt out of every corner of my room,
and I have so much energy I could rush a flower to bloom.

starry eyes with a bold stare
the universe isn't frightening to you
admirable because you are the one percent
the one percent who lives life to the fullest, one hundred percent

curls that your head weeps down
that resemble the salty ocean waves
skin as pale as a snow flake
with sun kissed spots on your crinkled button nose

translucent personality
angelic intentions
a golden silhouette of a heart on your wrist
a kiss that takes and gives air

I am slowly disintegrating out of the various lives I have been nesting in. I love the comfort of my lifestyles I build inside others until they become horrid and decrepit from abusing "the playground". I am quickly losing grip of my identity. I am changing ever-so quickly. How am I supposed to know the real me? Or are there multiple versions?  I think I need an intervention for the succubus I have resurrected inside of me.  I like who I am, yeah. Sometimes. It's confusing when you play both roles: day and night. I flip like a switch, yet I always feel turned on. Oh, so clever. Patterns are hard to break, guess that is why they call them patterns. I am drained from being both dissociated and overstimulated by life simultaneously.