I don’t write poems for poets Flowery language, indulge us I break it down With a simpler sound And anything more would be less
Powdered salt snowflakes Dusted on stubborn dead leaves Life’s perfect white noise
There is a Creator... Us! A reason for this Creation... Us! Alpha and Omega... Us!
I guess I write poetry I just vomit my soul onto paper I don’t know what else to call it but, poetry
Sometimes I hit myself Because I have excess And I don’t think it’s fair To force that onto you
You say you’re broken I see pieces made to fit You say you don’t know I see the truth hidden in it Hidden in You
I want the weird one The one that everyone says is not… That one has created a Self That one I can love
When we realize That our imperfections are Our emperfections
Gonna double back And double down
I lived today. I breathed. I moved. I was. I hope I helped.
Sometimes I think I’ve lived a ha… And then I remember I’ve never been a teenage girl
Just being yourself Is the absolute best way To show the world love
My brain doesn’t work like it norm… It doesn’t think of the funny rema… Or witty sayings It doesn’t jump from scene to scen… Most of the time it’s too busy
Most poems perused Would probably be better Made into haikus
It’s quite a process To create a person
