Poems from IsabelleE

It starts small: a prick in my unconsciousness transforms into a RUDE awakening. The slightest pressure builds and builds and builds and...
Hands that grasp, Hands to clasp, Hands that grab and pray. Hands that clap, Hands that slap and hands with words to say.  
I am a Poet. I create because it's who I am and who I am is what I'll create. What my hands lack in craft I make up for with my mouth as I...