DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, on the verges of spring:)


not all about that
yet all about me
the sleights redeemed too flat
taking things slowly

my stance
out of that delusional hand
still the intro of that kingdom dance
shook the sight demolishing one land

that debatable glance
the spark of something so vivid
scratched the hint of a chance
not my story & still not a person of livid

yet the better
some women listening to her weather in impact
yet delivering their letters
& they get a hold of a glorious contrast


                                                                              ------ravenfeels

DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, I hate alarms:>

inspiration would never not be instantaneous

                                                                             --------ravenfeels

DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, version three:)

fumbled with my thoughts
in hope of not being caught
yet that language does not belong
nor the humble intentions along

                                                                                         -------ravenfeels

DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, I know it's not just me:?

at the end of the day man is bound to that feeling of being lonely
the one that would devour his head severely yet slowly
maybe he's within the surroundings all through & in between
maybe he's already eaten into grounds he saw & yet hasn't seen
but eventually you are a mind & a mouth at the same
whoever you were wherever you are no matter your name
or maybe that's just me three a.m. in my bed
or maybe a reason is just blamed rather than said
or maybe that's just us the ones living in our heads
or maybe the mind convinces so not to end up mad instead
the lonely truth of the pathetic human thread you carry somehow
ironically holds an expiry date even that one you thought of now

                                                            ­                        ------ravenfeels

DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, version two?

I feel content
for I thought it to be satisfaction in a poem sent
yet the polars are polars
despite a fine line in between growing bolder
listen
for I define my own definition
satisfaction is the acceptance fulfilled
of having a cup half filled
yet content is the embrace of the enough
it's so humble to be touched
appreciating the made
for the reflection might be a blade
for the youth
for the drain for the truth
the empty half & the half full state
hoping for a better taste
from the cup before
lips to stumble none or nor

                                                            ­                     -------ravenfeels

DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, I'm well aware that nothing makes sense, including this poem :>

content is not something we give consent
you hold your pen yet the ink spills as it pleads
you are a walker of blood yet it sheds out when cut & bent
you have a brain yet the tongue blurts out the feels

content is not something we color
just an acceptance of the past
just a canvas you get to paint with limit bother
good for a day then a memory till it lasts

the kiss of a palm forehead & cheek
drafts in my head just to render a sleep
some greed never fed or a satisfaction to meet
yellow till it goes mustard & a shade deep

the saving of a night that would save the day
it's like it's gold but you're swallowing the sand?
the desperation for a treasure at some bay
how would I even find content when out of the hand?


                                                         ­                         --------ravenfeeels