there are days
i only feel like a burden.
someone who fills backseats
so that someone could be at the front.
and the weight of my own bones
are too heavy for a family name to carry.
heavy enough to crush a sorry girl.
my breaths are sometimes apologies
people refuse to hear.
im sorry if i am this way.
i wish i could be something more.
As I ponder upon my life
I feel as though I'm trapped inside a book of science fiction
Deep down in my bleeding heart I hope its about a
But in reality,
all the pages therein
Are screaming of my affliction
I pray with all my soul and might that there will be a
I know I am the author
and that I hold
the key to victory
But what becomes of the ending
We'll just have to see
I need to pen in an
And set my future free
I need to set up the ending
And decide just who I am to be
With all these things in mind,
I still frantically flip
through all the pages
Knowing all the pain I've caused
And seeing my past rages
Seeing all the failures pass
As it comes and goes in stages
How can I conquer all of this
When Ive been a total waste of space for ages?
I cannot help but gaze upon the blank sheets that follow after
After all, this book is not sci fi and I wont let it become
a great disaster
I do however, have a hero
and that hero is my sister
Ill be a mighty warrior just like her and I'll become the victor
I look towards the ending with my inspiration right in tow
Knowing that ill overcome and that my strength will grow.
I see my hero overcome on a daily basis and this
hard fact I know.
So just like her, I'll fight this battle everyday even if the goings slow
Ill do my best and fight the fight
Take up my mighty pen of life and deal the final blow!
This one hits hard. Its one of my more self inspiring pieces. Its weird how I can write something that actually inspires myself. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did! It actually really was inspired by my sister. We were talking earlier and she mentioned something about her life being like she was in a book. She knows I write alot and do poetry. So I said that that line could make a good poem. I told her to give me 30 minutes to write something using that line amd this is the result.
warm fingers swift and smoothly
in the air, I watch the words
come undone in front of us,
they splatter sweetly onto the page.
you hand me the paper and
my crooked fingers curl around it,
your magic lingers, stains the tips.
the words continue a flow as
you thread, into my mind labyrinth
through the holes on my cloak and
I watch, baffled, the golden streams
falling with care on and in-to my skin.
if magic is that which nature can-not fathom;
your words as alien as the meaning befallen
every-time your fingers cross'd mine.
the smooth current of energy from a beloved writer's soul
The Squeaking of Hinges
It is cloudy with a spit of unexpected rain
as you make your way to the barn,
unhooking the latch pulling the door. Open.
It creaks. The hinges are old and iron,
They rust without care, and need to be used
to stay limber. You have been gone a time
and they are stiff with neglect.
Still, they open. And as the week of your presence
falls back into the routine of letting animals in and out,
the hinges will fall back into their comfortable habits.
They will grow quiet as you oil them and use them,
until you no longer notice them in the morning
and nothing is left but you
and the wildstock.
I have been away a few days. I used to be terrified when I had been away from my writing for a while, even for just a few days. Terrified that like an unwatered plant, my ability to write would dry up and die. There is a long story behind that that I will leave for another time.
I know better now. Rusty is not dead. Far from it. At times, it brings new color.
To read is to breathe
To write is to drink
To listen is to eat and
To wonder is to believe
Literature is energy for the soul
The pen casts a spell
to each of our little pains
Charged with our ache,
distills into peaceful stillness,
a final and blissful end
(Words indeed do save)
Humans saving humans,
this is true heaven, truly being blessed
"Write, edit, re-write.
Post, edit, repost."
My finger prints are fading fast;
I thought they were here to last.
They used to linger where I'd please;
I've lost them now on laptop keys.