again
i'm retyping
and reordering
the words that i think
but they're all jumbled
and make no sense
now i'm stuck
and i guess you can say
that life sucks.
instead of saying i acted
in ways that i never thought
i could.
now i dug my own grave
because i acted without a saying
and my sayings were made with
an action.
exuberant
i climbed up the wall
wanting to reach for the sky
i was desperate to reach the top
that i never watched for the bottom
i was happily blind
and i didn't hear the cries
that i was warned.
did i mind and turned around
and later did i know
i was back on the ground.
i chose the wrong step
slipped and set
back on what i thought
that i could get.
now i look at the sky from far
never to reach or soar.
not from the ground.
so i sit and stay
laying there strayed.
listening to the wind blow
as i only get cold
not another move i make
because it's another risk
that i would foolishly take.
constellation
in the night sky
lies a canvas of stars
connecting to form a picture
shining brighter than any light
i look up and see a twinkling sight
and i think to myself
what does every star mean
now i wait every day
in rotation i stay up and sway
i can only see from afar
the beauty in a star
with glowing passion
they always stay in fashion
because the stars will stay
for a million years
and so will my feelings
except they'll never die
why?
My eyes look at the blank screen with a box of letters underneath. My mind falls into abyss as it waits to be catch by sanity.
Why do I keep moving my fingers. Why do I keep intoxicating the page with cries for help.
Do I write to express what I feel. Do I write to bring back memories that will never repeat.
Am I stuck in the past where writing is all I have. Am I in the future where writing takes me to the past.
Have I ever written about anything other than love and despair. Have I only written about the memories I can't bare.
foolish
I always wondered why I can't seem to write about anything else but love. Everything I say sounds like a lovesick pubescent desperate for attention. What would I know about love. I've only tasted artificial sweetener and been stuck in preserved honey. After a while I look back and regret what I say, because I'm nothing but 2 faced. Acting as I've seen the every horror in this world, I stay in my room drowning in silence. It happens too often making me nothing more than a foolish person. If it's one thing I can write about, then I'll write to my enjoyment because there's no rule saying you have to write about more than one topic. If I wish hard enough I won't get treated like the past is my present. It isn't, it's just a gateway to my writing.
My writing that flows across a canvas in stokes, covering it with the colors of the southern lights in the night sky, illuminating the eyes of everyone and flaring a passion in their hearts, leaving them in awe.