Currently working on:Marked by a Sword Wounds That Never Heal And I'm always writing poetry
Meaningless words and lonely phrases
Send empty echoes through my mind
Just enough to keep me dedicated,
Yet still insufficient.
"How hard can it be?" they tell me.
Sit down and watch
As you cause the pureness to
Trailing scars across its white.
Watch as those scars,
Transferred from your wrists to the page
Fall from glory the moment
Someone reads them.
"Just say what you feel," they tell me,
But they really don’t want that.
The brokenness of my mind
Is better kept there
Than under the microscope of those waiting
For me to fall.
And I will fall.
My vision clouds writing what moves me,
But it’s still not good enough.
The language is too strong not everyone is like that.
It’s just a cry for attention.
I only do it because I’m not good at anything else.
A thousand excuses to explain
Or a dismissal because they hate
That what I write
"Just do it," they say.
They don’t see the journey.
The rarity of its completion.
If I make it to the end,
It is with a dirty face and
I travel down a path,
Only to have to return
With broken fingers
And shattered heart.
What is wrong with me? I ask myself.
This is what you were made to do,
Comes the response.
Perfection has its price;
Is my sanity worth it?
I could never understand
when people said
that they had
How can you lose yourself
when you are right there?
That was, until I looked
into the mirror
and didn’t recogonise
that I saw
and I started looking for
the reflection that I
I don’t even know why I wrote this one, but I like it, so here ya go interwebs…
For my poetry class, we had to write a protest poem about something that really irritates them, and this is mine.
I had to write a color poem for my class. I figure I should explain what I had to explain to my professor: he felt the first stanza was all obvious, but that’s the point. It contrasts the green I see everyday as an American, who’s got it pretty good, to the green a person would see half way around the world.
It’s been a crazy week, but I’m hoping to be able to add two more poems, and I’m hoping to finish my second short story within the next couple of weeks.
This came from a writing prompt for my poetry writing class, and is about a trip I took to Oklahoma right after the tornadoes hit.