Girls who write poetry
To the girls who write poetry, who wish to prevail their hearts of empressement
or nostalgic tales of past beginnings, who speak through pens that bleed ink
of what they think, who only find themselves in a page of sporadic emotions.
To the girls who cry words of a thousand expressions hoping to reveal enlightenment
and impressment, who run through thoughts and walk through poetry.
To these girls who wish for answers to wishes.
Highs-
Im More crimson then the night the sun can’t even come out to play..words so grim after my glass is filled to the rim today, one cup after the other the shots speak what I am not. Ever so green after the clouds I blow spill out all my hurt memories but only temporary..lost minds like mine subjected to the infection of disbelief causing pain with pills at the tip of my tongue swallowed to consumption until I numb it all away feeling only nothing. why does the high feel like a let out when it’s a brain trapped with chains and emotions that remain the same. The high brings out my rays of my praise for the first five minutes as I feel defined with hope until I open my eyes and find myself stuck doing dope. I ask for your hand and get a finger. I ask for your love and get lust. I ask for a second chance and I dnt even get that second glance I must admit talking to you seem like a time limit but those are my faults for putting most of my time in it..words like these I despise because words like these create my highs…
by, PeterC.
Goddess
Heels clicked off the scum stuck concrete, confidence killed while watching eyes judged out of jealousy
She walked face blushed and fierce like perfection. She walked classy with a touch of heaven. Gum popped smelling of mint mixed lipgloss. She turned heads but never settled for less then what laid ahead.
The sun was her spotlight as she glowed and the wind brushed her hair accross the horizon. Soft spoken voice rested souls and made smiles.
She was a product of style…
“You are” the beginning of an ending
You are the roots to the clutter on my blank page, the key to my rage, the destruction to my extrovert, the manipulation of my justification, the nightmare to my dreams, the part of me that should seize to exist.
You are the interpretation of black in my writings, the dead to my life like mold eating my insides into a corpse, the apocryphal hope of my desire.
You are the norm to typical when I thought of you as difference, the reason I forgot how to smile, the crucial war scar my heart has fault in having. You are now that consistent nonexistent appearance in my truth….
Girls who write poetry
To the girls who write poetry, who wish to prevail their hearts of empressement
or nostalgic tales of past beginnings, who speak through pens that bleed ink
of what they think, who only find themselves in a page of sporadic emotions.
To the girls who cry words of a thousand expressions hoping to reveal enlightenment
and impressment, who run through thoughts and walk through poetry.
To these girls who wish for answers to wishes.
I awake with a memory from a dream full of sensory. Paradise is where I was ment to be white clouds, blue waters and crisp air. I swear I love taking deep breathes in my chest as the wind blows and the sun glows. Summer time in paradise I will forever know and when heaven appears on my face my smile will show.
Decades
My love for you will never fade even though you broke me down with hate. My love for you is here to stay because i find you in my better faith. The seconds spent away felt like hours and hours became days, thoughts of your lips that I used to kiss so gently ended sadly leaving me to praise and before you know it the last words and kisses we shared through out the days will become a memory of my decades. -PAC
Looking through my eyes
Sittin sideways looking at the world from a different perspective thinking about the goodtimes but these new times give goodtimes a hard time. Pain is a game and ima pon that’s just been killed. My brain has more thoughts then I can deal. My heart heals but at a slow rate making me hate along the way. But I don’t show it thinking its better to hide it. This consistency has me feeling like i was created for tragedy because I can cope but for how long will this last before I rope the rest cutting off what’s left…looking through my eyes and you can read my mind like this…you gave up I gave in you left while I stayed now I gotta deal with this pain. Nothin more to say then a broken heart with a story so let me throw you a page or two with words of truth
Missed
The thoughts of time taken back to the pit of my bliss from the one that will be missed. I took a risk for the greatness of love where my devotion was above and beyond. Changing my emotions for better motives was a mission I had to insist because when love left, love left me in an abyss. I hope to heal from a love like this
Nostalgia
The nostalgia eats my insides as if the rest of my life has become irrelevant. As futile and brutal this may seem, I’m still living in a dream of rutilant hope for the past to become my present once again. My copious thoughts bleed through my pen on a blank piece of paper revealing the deprivation of my enigma. My imagination sometimes leaves me under a hypnotized spell causing me to stare and explore my sporadic thoughts to find sense in this emotional tragedy. I stare into the sunrise as I do the sunset for answers and try to bare odds in the midnight blue yet I’m still left with the slightest clue. How to heal when the heart can not see whats real?
