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There is sadness in these bones Deep in the marrow of the house that is my body I am a home to grief and anger You cannot see it in my skin and in my flesh But I flash my teeth and you finally recognize
The letters fly from my pen creating words I can never say I cannot draw, or sketch, but I can paint a picture In the minds of others through the words I string together
Poetry is a short, loaded outlet Many interpretations for knowledge Writing poems is so unique
 Frost invites my fingertips; it beckons my graspEach flake kisses my lids, and paints my lashes to frostMy palms are graced by the snow, a bliss without costI lift my lids, while each step is answered by the snow’s raspEach eye of ebon sueded is
A world where one sentence can change a life Is a planet where words whether written down or spoken are concrete Like the streets we travel from dusk until dawn
  Suffocation. Pent up emotions Boiling up inside me, begging For release. But how?? Is there any way to release the pain?   Talking doesn't help, only hurts Ignoring my heart only allows for
The world is falling apart around me People screaming and crying for equality Yet I still sing They try to shush me and my tune Looking at me like I am a loon Yet I still sing
Poetic thoughts form onto my blank page
I look at those with simpler minds
You say you're in a funhouse,
They say birds of a feather flock together.     But maybe that’s why I feel under the weather. With my body tethered to this world I sought a way to be liberated.
He lets me know that I'll be alright, he sees my tears and holds me tight. eyes wide open yet im sleep, left alone to solemnly weep. scared of love because he'll probably leave and though its cold I'll plant my seed.
A creative child Driven wild By one’s own imagination   Thoughts abound Running around Dreaming of creation   No one knows A story untold Of one’s pent up emotions  
Sometimes without pencil and white space I think my mind would go dizzy with thought, too much heart all cluttered in space ambiguity-- my mind would burst in the mix nowhere to go
Where do my words begin? My world lives in a pen And when I write, it all comes out And on the paper, my world is sent But what is my writing all about? About my life, my love, my friends
Poetry is not just rhyming It's about the timing I write when Im happy, lonely and sad & when things are crazy and bad It reflects of my different personalities & moods
I love writing poems it allows me to express myself, i can write about foam and make it symbolic for something else Theres much you can do when you have imagination, you can write one too
Crying in my room, overwhelmed by circumstances I can’t control Confessing my fears as my tears silently roll Standing before you with nothing to offer, Only broken pieces to lie at Your altar,
In a quiet little town I owned a small shop Inside sat a table With a vase perched on top A heart-shaped vase Shades of red and pink so bright It sat in the window Each day and each night
Strum of a guitar Beat of a drum Note of a piano Bar by bar Melodies flood my mind My head sways with the rhythm
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