Learn more about other poetry terms

I stare at blank pages and earbuds with grinsI open rum bottles like I do ink pens;Eager & callow & begging for answers to crawl from their depths,
How often have we yearned of being, Swept off your feet and cradled? My blood,
A glance I suppose that...Somewhere in between the steady brown of your eyes,and the tethered beauty hidden by the chains of my dress
I didn't understand why girls would cry because their bodies never mesmerized a boy's eyes I didn't understand why the wrists were slit on my friends thin arms
Subscribe to Insicure