sway back and forth
a beautiful array of
emotion dances
side
by side
I feel a menagerie
and my lips feel dry

Not a word spoken,
yet so much was said.

Writing like slapping brushstrokes
on the page, typing with such speed
that the keys click loudly; music
to my ears. I will write like my
life depends on it, because sometimes
it does. Through lows and high, I
will make art, and maybe, just maybe,
one day someone will read them
and understand.

it bugs me, the way
you walk like you own
the place, standing tall
prideful as a lion, yet
selfish as a thief.

You are all you think about.

can't stop thinking
you, always a damsel
but what happens dear
when no one comes to
save you?
...
Do you have it in you,
that fire, that spark
to be your own hero?

there's a balance to be

struck, the tightrope

between creativity and

burnout; a match lit from

both ends and I'm burning

alive.


I don't know when to stop.