In a judgmental world
Where no one got time for anyone
It becomes nearly impossible to find
Someone to whom you can confined
Is my only relief
Papers never called me a loser nor weak
Pens never turned a deaf ear to me
Papers never hugged me
Pens never consoled me
Writing , painting or music
In a suffocating world
They give you a room to breathe
But nothing brings comfort and peace
Like another human being
The only problem is
Everyone is very busy to care these days
© Ame Agami
When I'm seeking shade from a relentless sun,
And brush a rejected leaf off my shoulder,
I feel poetry.
When I brought my girls home,
From hospital, school, a bad night out,
I've experienced poetry.
Walking Front St., or Centennial Park,
While the buskers are busy,
The children are laughing,
The dogs are barking,
I've heard poetry.
If fortunate to espy a shooting star,
Enjoy the fullness of an autumn moon,
Witness the dawn light up my lawn,
Like a diamond mine,
I've seen poetry.
I've tasted poetry on my lips
With kisses and endearing words,
And lingering tastes from what you've served.
Yes, I've savored poetry's flavors.
Who reads poetry,
When you can live it.
A melody echos
to explain his soul.
but the notes he chose,
don't come close.
A painting reflects
his hearts simple goal.
but the shades he selects,
don't come close.
Words at least.
So he can rest in peace.
From the disjointed
of a ghost.
It feels good when someone likes your pain.
Funny concept, isn't it?
To feel so fulfilled when you're congratulated for your wounds?
When you're celebrated for your tears,
commended on your scars,
applauded for your broken heart.
A creator is enslaved to his art,
the art is enslaved to his pain.
Without the hurting, the art just doesn't feel real.
It's a gimmick, just some pretty words.
Pain is the proper seal of approval.
The certificate of authenticity
You can't spell paint brush without pain.
Pain is the most vibrant color
The unbreakable pencil.
Heartache is the sharpest camera lens.
The ink runs darker when there's blood added.
Love is better remembered when it's broken.
Happiness is more vivid after it's taken away.
Loved ones become more loving after they're gone.
Love interests stay beautiful in the past.
The best sex improves with time
Good memories age like wine.
I'd love to make happy art,
I'd love to smile when I spill my memories
Be nice to just write because I can.
Pain is just more interesting.
Darkness the better work light.
Misery the better Muse.
I’m going to write you letters. A letter for everyday I’ve been without you. A letter for every day I felt hurt. A letter for every day I’ve missed you. I’m going to write you birthday letters, Christmas letters, New Year’s Eve letters. I’m going to write you sad letters, angry letters, and forgiving letters. I’m going to write to you. I’m going to write until my hand breaks. I’m going to spill every single drop of emotion my heart has spilled for you and has yet to. I’m going to write down every single thought I’ve ever thought and emotion I’ve ever felt, for and with you. I’m going to write you. Letters I’ll never send you. But I will still write you. I’ve always loved writing, and you always said I was a great writer. And I also love you. So I’ll get to put the two things I love most in one place. If you ever want to feel my heart again, if you ever for some reason want to see if I still care.. Take these letters. I’m badly bruised, almost paralyzed. I no longer want to speak, or even feel. So I will write to you, all that is real.
While crossing this street,
Vehicles prevented me from walking,
Unable to reach the other side.
Loved ones tried to open a path,
Holding my hand while facing fears,
But I resisted with self-dignity.
Pursuing the intersection to advance,
Determined to seek the route on my own,
Needing to find the destination freely.
Aware of all the hardships on the road,
Willing to seek out the necessary advice,
But must travel independently to claim glory.