'creative expression' freedom
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A child’s crayon
bent, worn down
flakey, smooth
she has used it
for all her notebooks
They're those who are screeming to be heard
And many even dreaming to no longer be abhorred
Wishing if only someone would stop or pause, to eventually understand them
Dirty table, high chair, hungry bear
A mother eats her young,
doesn’t anybody care?
You don’t know my reason,
Sometimes, creativity is bottled up.
Contained by circumstances or self doubt.
But the only way to discover yourself and thrive,
is to break the glass that contains your potential.
Tick tock, tick tick tock,
There goes the familiar rhythm of the clock,
As the notes align with the beats in my chest,
Vibrations surge through my fingers fighting to remain at rest.
I was alone,
Her name; an important presence
Polite, Reserved, and Proper:
The smokescreen of authentic identity
With cracks at the edges of an unceasing mold,
You swipe left,
You swipe right.,
Hoping to meet someone soon,
Maybe tonight.
Fit birds here,
Handsome blokes, coor too right.
Distance set, filters on,
Few matches already, ariiiight.
The bubonic stain of a modern era,
Many entries,
Will drive a man up the wall,
Totally crazy.
Very subtle in its origins,
Slowing it down isn't easy,
Effects, lots of a middle aged kind,
