Previously, I have very much filtered my poetry. As in, I didn't give viewing permissions to anyone who didn't need it. I'm weening off of that here, quite a bit.
Can I keep you past ten and turn back the clock? Can we go back to when the doors were locked? in the smoothie cafe where I could stay all day with you slowly sipping away time until kicked out - at closing; I'm quite certain that the night It's young. Both sipping slowly having fun shuffling in seats postponing the sun.
This jagged pill takes away from all of the fear that lives with me; ( fear that I fear to lose. forgetting it. A shred or less.) What becomes of me now, that my fears are gone; what is left to run away from but myself? scolding shelf
What is my self but the sole of a shoe hiding within not showing who? What lies within is simply the effect; years of actions, hidden more traits to yet dissect. I'm simply that boy in the back quiet, and taken aback at the thought of misconstrued words, which serve as his food. The importance that my self may have, Is certainly not halve of others', is defined by the side they don't see - what is hidden is what defines me. Like everyone else, I'm a friend, a child, and the parent of ideas, simply parallels of what others have accomplished. Nothing new have I brought about It's been done before, I'm simply others' creation, all throughout A beating heart, some idiosyncrasies, and a decent cerebrum; thoughts galore.
When I found a woman whose mind bends around the ways of mine whose words soothe intricacies of my heart whose body caresses mine like pen on paper whose very hair is thin but needed, as conjunctions here in this poetry written linearly I did not hesitate but for the chance. that one day now in the past I will say "I love you."
Running along this path like in a flood, I feel the wrath No that's not the word; that thought's absurd. surely this is nothing less than a beating drum, pushing noise down this red river feeling for the next drumstick, whatever may come - so I can hear the love giver give. What a wonderful tune, this flow sloshes around against the sides just waiting for the opportune moment to spash against me, and coincides with my footsteps, plopping, steady knee-high now, I fall into the red river's wall. finding myself warm already Drunk with the sweet music of the sloshing of your blood, I swim upstream, homesick embracing the flash flood.