It's been so nice not writing poetry.
I've been able to realize that the flow of words, The sounds of voices echoing, And the hurt interealized with symbolism isn't just for poetry. The sounds of the past can be turned into the booms of the future. No longer are thoughts stuck like glue to a screen, but they flow into the atmosphere and come back like the wind. A wind of freedom, creativity, and control. Music. Music makes the pain turn into beauty. The blue rays fly out of one's mouth from what was red fog surrounding the heart. Contemptment within the known is now flown to embracing the fate of one as is. Beauty lies within the vibrations in the floor, the double disguise of words, and the taps of love from all limbs. Beauty is within the music of one's heart. Next Poem Things were easier when I was young, Is a sentence that doesn't resonate with a broken person like me. Fragments of good memories are left everywhere but every second one happens, the big grumpy boot of luck and fate shatters them and reminds me my life sucks. I wish things were easier when I was younger, but as I got older everything got harder. Half of it's my fault, that the people laugh and jest, thinking that it's funny I have nothing left. Smiles all around for the girl who couldn't have a childhood, a pat on the back for not becoming a villain yet. Who do you people think you are? Nothing easy. My life sucks, yet you spit your words as they glob around my conscious reminding me how much you hate me. Admit it, you don't like me. You don't like what I have, my persistence, you're jealous. Guess what? I'm jealous too. You got everything and I may seem perfect but this image is for you. I don't want to scare you. I want to hide what this life can do to a person. There's nothing left to me, black and crumble is my heart, my eyes glisten when I think I've found the reason and then lose their color when they remember that happiness is temporary. Things were easier when I was young, because I had nobody and expected nobody. Now, everyday the knock of the tall large man comes at my broken door to remind me that the only body I have is named lonely. At least he keeps me company.
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June 2021
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