Can’t you see, girl? I’m trying to get to you, Doing crazy things that only artists do. A shadow of your posts appears on my feed, my keyboard gets all eager, girl, A tweet I must set free. I try to play it cool, pretend your face don’t matter, Date one here and there, But…
I think I’m ready to live my life the way I wanted. I think I’m ready to live my life and not look back. I think I’m ready to see more than white and black; to fly a little, to wake up late no voices saying to face the day. Sit in complete silence from…
“Are you grieving?” “No,” I quizzically said. “You only talk about sad things.” How to tell her that I’m a requiem; an airless breath, a heartless ribcage, a misunderstood sonnet. I want to tell her about the times I’ve stared blank at the silver clouds up in the sky, never hearing a reply. So unable…
She remembers the times he rubbed it all in her face. Car payment, shopping sprees, fancy meals, his fancy place. Every argument led to one direction, “I’ve done so much for you; I’m the answer to your equation.” Repetitive words he said so often times, made her question decisions she made in her prime times….
My feet up on a table, hands writing my life. Papers, sticky notes, cheap street art. All overlapping each other, hanging from a wall so plain and white. Receipts everywhere; months old, years old — what’s the point of holding on? Organizing them is futile, I long gave up. Paper towel wasted, not my doing….
First come the problems then it’s the fights then the denial then, boom – goodbye. One remote day, though healed over time you’re friends again hang out ’til sunrise You’ll be alright
I want a house full of nothing; just a clean wooden bare floor, scented candles and a tall door. I want a house full of nothing; a mirror and music to dance to, red lipstick and perfume when days are blue. I want a house full of nothing; counter lights, clean toilet seat, hot water…
Puede que las caras que presento no sean siempre de agrado ni mucho menos adecuadas para el mejor momento. A todos brindo mi única cara, pero a los ingratos voy y muestro la que no tiene sentimientos Y así dejarles saber que no es ira lo que siento mas bien, indiferencia; Lo siento si me…
Lately, I find myself overly appreciating everything. Anything may turn into a lovely piece of art, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing. I’ve learned to look at the positives in the not-so-positive moments, turning them into poetry or a symphony. I’ve learned to appreciate the smallest things. The other day, as I was doing…
I wasn’t always free. The spirit of freedom slowly made its way in, year after year, removing the shame layer by layer, until a bare soul and a mind in the open remained. It made sense; carefree felt and looked better since.
As you walk down the street, flick your hair, move your feet or throw your hands in the air, a work of ART is being based on you. As you work your way up and pave your way through, someone is ROOTING for you. As you do something as simple as being yourself, you’re inspiring…