Armies of words gather in my head
To march so boldly onto the page.
They work their wonders
Who knows how?
Why they pick me as their channel
For their landing craft
I’ll never know.

Some accident of birth:
Genetic fluke –
For which I take no credit –
Makes me nectar to these ants
That line themselves into verse.

Compulsion drives me to write
As salmon must jump those water falls
To return to their spawning grounds.

I have to speak, or rather type:
Express myself
No matter what,
Whether good or bad.

Is there a cure for this affliction of mine?
Can I ever stop myself from writing?
I very much doubt it.

Paul Butters

© PB 16\11\2018.

people see your skill

   and name it Talent

      in reality,

         Talent walked you to the door

            knocked twice,

               then disappeared

                  and you were left with Grit.

i ****** myself to hell
because
it was all i was good for.

Gifts entertain people while an anointing changes lives.
                                                        
                                                                ­                                 -Kada

i am one of those girls.
today, my hair waves softly,
and looks exactly right.
today, my shirt was tied exactly right,
so you could barely see the soft skin beneath.

today, i left.
i walked away from a pedestal
-yes, i would have been good,
yes, i loved it.
yes, i was amazing.

yes, i was tired and
couldn’t do it anymore.

i stand in the rain today,
on walkways where wet orange leaves are plastered to the ground.
i sit inside, scratching my pen on soft paper,
watching the sky darken grey and cold.

i am one of you.

i am the girl, standing on the bleachers with her eyes to lights.
it is friday night.
i am the girl who wears her school’s shirt,
on leggings and with pride.
i am the girl, who relaxes,
stands guard at the pool.
i am the girl who does her homework,
and always asks questions.

i am lost. i miss this,
the glory and the feeling. i miss being that good.
but i am content, my heart is at ease.

and don’t worry, the world’s still gonna know my name.

i’m standing on the
edge of the world
so much talent and
opportunity.

but i’m waiting.
waiting for something
to happen that will
never happen.

Hands that only reach for you when you turn to leave, whispers that only say your name when you turn up the music and shut the world out...love that only rears it's head in their hearts when you give up on feeling anything beyond hunger; such is the fleeting nature of man. Noah_arkenswagg