If you haven’t noticed, I write a lot of poetry. I like it a lot. But why? Poetry is a way to express what I’m feeling without explicitly explaining it. Robert Frost said, “Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.” When I …
When tears fall from my eyes The waves will still land. When my world fills with lies The mountains still stand. I know I have value, only That doesn’t mean The world spins for me. I don’t paint the grass green.
Petals in the parking lot: They look like little stars. My eyes move with each dancing dot As they twirl under cars. I sat and watched the galaxy, But how often do I run, And miss art that passes by me Just so I can get things done?
The smell of fresh baked bread A carved wooden chair The morning sun in bed Mixed notes in the air This canvas of paint here A tower so tall Town of beauty and fear Stories make me feel small
I don’t want to know who you say you are. You could build a pretty box. You could cover it with locks. On the inside, I know you hide a scar. I don’t want to see who you say you’ll be. You could form a plastic face. You could run …
I remember roses you give every year. It’s the little things that truly touch my heart. I remember how I never had to fear, And I wished that we would never have to part. I remember icecream at the perfect time, When you took me out to my favorite …
Growing. Although it is healthy, We resist and fight. Stagnant Is the preferred state. Breaking out of a shell Is difficult, But on the outside Is the open air.
Truth is breaking through the canopy; It is oxygen to my soul. Though I did not know I was suffocating, There was a gag over my countenance. When it was torn off, I learned what it means to breathe. Now I live with full lungs, And appreciate each rise and …
How often do we live asleep? A staring face with closed eyes. How often do we smile and weep? The air we inhale cries. How often do we run while tied? A dying muscle forced to fly. How often do we reach too wide? The very earth begs us to …
Pondering a reputation, Incessantly haunting our minds, A broadcast of hearts clamoring For acceptance, Our worth resting on a shaky symbol. Mysteries are fading away. Desperate to conform to magazines We present our filtered lives. “I don’t care” is the national anthem. But inside, we feel the stab of judgement …