A sunflower with a drop of oily yellow so feeble but one gets lost in the happiness it brings
I haven't ever known a happiness similar to this. In the days of my childhood, I used to sit in a room alone with the vast pages of words and alphabet
I've learned them so well Yet no matter how I arrange I'm not convinced that I can Properly express all of the things I wish to say to you.
At sunset, when light fades in to darkness, the gray that spreads around makes one ask, 'what if the moon wouldn't appear tonight?'
I've learned that the moon, it always appears. But if you turn your back to it You will miss the small things that it shines on
Like the sunflower that has been planted from the coldest of all the winters and from darkness of all the odds have put against it in lack of sunshine
There, it waits. Plenty in solitude and protected by solace. Ready for you to water it and teach the warmth of the world that you have provided, so it can bloom under an autumn moon
From the perspective of a fictional character I've created, this was a poem drafted after the character, who was supposed to be infertile, found out she was pregnant. This was how she presented the news to her partner. The sunflower representing the child.
Budding with excitement and seemingly pointless fear, but I held a new life in my hands shown through a *** of all my savings. My eyes dart wildly in awe of all the different cars, big ones, small ones, new ones, and foreign ones. Everyone smiled at us - the dealers and the other buyers who walked out with shiny, new vessels as if it were nothing. Nobody knew this was our fifth dealership, even we pretended to lose count maybe this time we’ll leave with something. I know they can see how badly I yearn for a car of my very own that I can say is mine, that I worked for it, that I can watch age through the years.
I wish my body was painted With all the stories of my life All the joy and heartbreak Sprawled across my skin. I wish I could simply Trace the lines of a scene Instead of clawing at words To pull these feelings from myself Hoping someone could understand them. I wish there were scars and stretch marks And something to show for it Instead of empty arms And an empty belly I wish I could have met you To follow the curve of your face With the tips of my fingers To breathe you in To kiss your tiny lips. I wish I could show the world to you And show you to the world, but I have nothing left to show of you. No scars, no stretch marks, No watercolor scenes. Just an emptiness in me.