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...