I hold you like a lily pad
within my palms that glisten,
and I kiss you with the promise
to never write about you again,
knee-deep in a river,
my heart longing to sink.

I wrote this while listening to rocket by beyoncé

I'm wide awake

And I can't sleep

The only thing on my mind

Just makes me weep

It's 10 at night

And my chest is tight

My feelings just aren't right

There's nothing I can do

I can't fight

I can't go to bed but that would be my highlight

I just lost my high light

My light that shone ever so bright

Yet I lost it

I lost it and it's out of sight

There's nothing I can do to retrieve that light

Nothing about this night brings me any delight

I need something to act as a satellite

No person can do that for me

That's why I write

I'm bawling my eyes out

I'm stalling because of doubt

I want to scream

And I want to shout

But I can't because of the people about

So I sit, sigh and cry in silence

I just want to punch the wall

But I can't result in violence

I have school tomorrow

And I wont be able to sleep

Is it possible to feel any more hollow?

My battery is slowly draining

But I have to be more constraining

And do the best with what's remaining

But my bones can't stop aching and straining

Let's stop blaming because that's not entertaining

But my hope is waning

My arms are weak and shaking

My whole body is quaking

I want to be loud and let it out

But I can't because I don't want anybody waking

I guess life is just one big painting

You are the artist

The world is your canvas

But sometimes when things don't go your way

You have to improvise

And when you improvise

Your original idea, to your surprise

Was not as good as when you improvised

So I exercise knowing I lost the biggest prize

And when I do that it takes my mind off her beautiful eyes

And other feelings besides the emotional pain begin to rise

I just need to take my mind off the butterflies

I need to do whatever it takes to make my mind randomize

Instead of categorize

All the feelings she gave me inside

I never felt so alive

But it's over now

I just have to survive tonight and try not to recite the past

But I know I will anyways because the feelings were real

With her everything was electrified and maximized

Not a single thing was televised

She was my paradise

She left me mesmerized

But I rolled the dice

And I lost

And all I do is want to apologize

But she left me

So I have to get rid of the envy

So I don't end up crying next time she sits next to me

But all these feelings are heavy

And being her best friend

I'm not ready

I hope she can understand

Because being close to her already

That will be deadly to me

So I just have to take my mind off of it gently

And call it a night

But I can't sleep

So I'll have to call it a write

just like the
Berlin blockade,
my mind is

through the winters
and the seasonal sun
that sets at ten,
i’ve been known
to write
to writhe.

the sunset hues
aren’t quite so soft,
the winter breeze
isn’t quite as crisp.

seeking that flow
of my pen,
give me inspiration
for that once
faded freckled face
freckled yet again.

i don’t know what to
because my mind is

if you’re uninspired,
write about the dullness
and the humdrum
of the uninspiring.

in a world
of words,
read and
be in that state of awe;
take it all in
and write.

As I sit by the window, a blistering wind bellows
Howling at me, howling for a reason - I question.
The statue angels in the rose garden below listen in.

I close the creaking window. I shut my book on the rose colored cushion.
My reflection leaves me, alone......

The wind blows - and the window blows, open, I did not touch - anything.

Again, I close the window, the hollowing blows the trees down, but my period on sentences for myself make me shout inside me.

The written notes with scattered arrows, the massive circle in the center with a question mark - all scattered on the cushion. And as the trees shake and children scream below me, the question marks grow bolder.

My truth?

My purpose?

My intuition?

I hear a sharp shout calling my name, which does not have handed flowers in its tone. I wake down stairs. And as I close the door the paper I drew on falls to the floor,
Where dust resides

Leaving your passion and self behind to go to do something that you do not care for

I write because of my silence,
I'm silent when they blame me,
For all the things I didn't do,
And Making a fool of me.

I write because they don't listen,
To all the truth that seep from my wounds,
I try and try, but I'm the fool,
To not know that I'm just a tool.

I write because of my wish,
To communicate with them,
Who don't even remember,
What I had to go through.

I write because I have been lied to,
To tell them that I know the truth,
That they had hidden away,
So that I could not find and call them out.

It's only a matter of time
when I'll force myself to rhyme.

losing myself
losing myself

It's like I force myself to write
before I lose sight,
no helping me now
unless I can find out how.

ha ha

It’s all right here for you to see.
The scattered remains…what’s left of me.
See, when you make the page your stage...
you spill your soul along the way.

What is it you think you’ll hear?
Sometimes I guess it’s not that clear.
Perhaps it’s like the ocean’s roar...
talking to some wave-kissed shore.

Maybe it’s a baby’s cry,
or frustration letting out a sigh.
A dancing leaf upon a limb.
Do you dare to dance with him?

Why does the rain tap on the tin...
to just be heard or does it want in?
Bird sends his song upon the wind.
His searching seems to never end.

What is trapped inside a word?
Is its message ever heard?
A crumpled note tossed along a curb
left unread and undisturbed.

Either way, it’s all right here.
A part of me on paper.

© gmw 2015

Write your guts out. No regrets.
A Jun 15

"I love you,"

I said.

He replied,

"Good night."

That night

I knew

what love was for me

was a dream to him

Star BG Jun 14

To write, or not to write
that is the question,
as I stand at pedestal of my oak desk.
The moments fine to take the plunge.

To scribe, or not to scribe
that is the question,
as deep breath grounds my poet's heart.
The moments grand for starting new.

To scrawl or not to scrawl,
that is the question,
as fantasies grow inside dreams.
The moment is lined with adventures.

To compose, oh to compose
is the answer,
as energies of heart leads on,
and manuscript-like boat floats gracefully.

Floats to be christened
inside waves for a lyrical birth.

Floats, to be christened
inside waves for a lyrical birth.

StarBG © 2017

Playing with idea of choosing to write or not write
Mercury Chap Jun 13

Ask yourself, how are you feeling?
Sad, mad, happy, glad?
Maybe stuck in a hurricane of gloom, Where angry grey skies loom
High up above your head,
Even when they aren't near,
Your heart is filled with fear.

How are you feeling?
Write it all out
Maybe compare it with a simile or a metaphor so the reader feels it too,
You need these devices only for beautification,
So the reader connects with you.

One more tip,
I will make it quick
It is only for the comfort of lips,
That we make it all rhyme,
But it's not necessary,
Since at times we try rhyming it, and it doesn't make sense,
Like celebrating marriage (death) anniversary.

It is all up to you, what you have to write,
It doesn't have to be a structure,
There are no rules, no regulations,
Only you and your heart,
So let the ink flow to its natural tendency
And what will be will be.

So my dear writer, I hope I helped,
I hope you see it clear and bright,
It's your turn to tell me
How are feeling? Is everything alright?
Just write and write and write.

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