A poem I wrote on the bus this morning

I saw her again this morning. I’ve been seeing her a lot recently. I hadn’t seen her in a while. She’s the girl whose eyes are brighter Than the rest of the world As they glow with the moonlight They soaked in from the night before. Her eyes smile Even when the rest of her…

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The Essence of a Winter’s Day

Flowers close their petals And droop their lonely heads Weighed down with the rain The garden becomes shadowed By a sky painted in grey. Brown sodden leaves are stamped into The steeped soil between the gravel stones. But water droplets balancing on leaves Glisten like glitter In the single ray of sunlight Peeking through the…

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Forgotten – A Poem

Some mornings, the vision Of my tired eyes is blurred And the person in the mirror Isn’t good enough to face the world. But with smoother skin and pinker lips, Or even longer lashes, I am far more prepared to see the storm, My fire will leave this place in ashes. But what if it’s…

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Memories – A Poem

The nature of memories Is comparable to pebbles Found on ocean shores. The pretty ones. The ones you admire for their pure perfection. The ones you may collect into Parcels of folded hands To be deposited in display jars When you arrive home. But they weren’t always that perfect. It’s just that the tumbling tides…

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Hopelessly Wasted Words – A Poem

You don’t deserve Any of the words I give you. Why do I fill my pages With words for you When all yours for me Were empty? And more importantly Why do I keep writing them? Why do I constantly Hopelessly Waste my words On the people Whose colours turned to grey? Who turned my…

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Masterpiece – A Poem

I am a masterpiece in progress. Constantly Endlessly Painting and repainting my bones In the colour that I think fits me best, But nothing stays just right for very long. At first a colour may seem rich And powerful Like the passion of burgundy red, But as it seeps into my marrow It becomes nothing…

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Rain – A Poem

It is not the rain That makes the sound. It is the collision Of water bullets beating a surface. I will always find discomfort In the sound of rain hitting my head, Drumming on the walls of my skull, Tapping on my window pane. Water holds so much power As if these droplets Are actually…

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