MY Poetry
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My poems these days are messy afterthoughts
With no thoughts or rhyme to them anymore
A whirlwind of time pieces that are just eventualities
Years after we have seperated
And my lips have ceased
My brain will continue speaking highly of you
Années après nous avons séparé
Lately I’ve grown aware
Of my habit for lashing out, my cold fits
My disenchanting flare and I know
my pride's laid bare
I know how strange you’ve been feeling these days
My Golden Girl’s gone cold
But all of that could change
Yet still you remain with me
When skies are blue
and clouds are grey.
When nothings new
and people, fade away.
When life looks bleak
and it all seems arbitrary.
You need to realize,
its only temporary.
My poetry is a bonfire on a sand summer night,
It is neither quiet nor satisfied.
It strives for more than what was made before.
It is my way of expression,
It is my way of communication.
It won't happen to me, I said. That's a sad story, but it won't happen to me. I'm invincible. A teenager. My "whole life ahead of me". It won't happen to me. I'll do everything right. I promised. I won't drink and drive. I agreed.
