raindrops faintly laughing as they prance along the leaves watercress dancing gently twirling slowly in the creek a deer’s neck softly brushing like a whisper against a tree the sun is rising in the forest with hushed tones of red on green a brusk barista whose soul is wounded wants to cry but bravely greets the first blush of sweet dawn's morning ignites resplendent things unseen
I’m slowly progressing but progressing nonetheless. The worst thing I could do is give up on myself. The worst thing I did this week was give up on myself. Sometimes dreams delayed feel like dreams denied. If you asked how I’m holding up and I responded by saying “I’m okay” then chances are I probably just lied. Everyone’s caught up in their own world, if you don’t see me tomorrow then know that I tried. I’m sorry I don’t want to bother or burden anyone with my problems. I know you’ve never seen me cry but I can no longer hide all that I’m feeling inside. Some people suffer in silence because of self-importance and a little bit of pride. But that’s not me, I put my heart on paper and I let it all bleed. But lately I’ve come to realise that not everyone likes to read. So I ask myself, who am I writing all these resplendent poems to?