stop counting the stars,
stop trying to stop me from bleeding,
count my scars, they ll stay
the stars will be gone the morning

Poetry
A word majestic in its own,
Poetry is a tool
A path I take to calm down
A direction I go when bland sentences alone can never truly express,
When the words stay trapped in my throat,
Never spoken,
Because I am not able to show my true feelings through spoken words.
I write.
I don’t like to talk.
Because talking leaves room open for disagreement
Talking, airing my thoughts, seems to ******* me.
Leaving me defenseless, a target to aim for.
Poetry is my small way of winning when I can’t win elsewhere,
Poetry is a battle plan,
Poetry is a blueprint
A map to my emotions, my feelings, how I view the world.
Poetry is like a script
When I can’t speak anything from heart,
When I’m sometimes trapped in my mind
And the unspoken, unwritten words catch me in a web,
I write.
I can organize my thoughts in a way that makes sense to me.
My poetry doesn’t have to make sense to others
My poetry doesn’t have to live up to the standards of others
My poetry doesn’t have to meet the status quo
In my poetry
I’m finally free to express
To say something in a society that’s gone at ends to keep me quiet
To finally tear down the walls that have kept me prisoner in the silence
Agree, or shut up, they say.
My poetry doesn’t have to agree
My poetry reflects back to me,
And I’m proud of the sentences made by words strung together
Out of the 26 letters of the alphabet,
Isn’t it amazing?
Get to the point, they say,
But how can I describe what poetry means to me using simple words such as
Happy, sad, and mad?
Give me something to work with here.
You don’t have to like poetry
But I love it.

Cry your eyes blind
no longer recognize
forever lost, never to find
never to change your mind
the smell of sweet pine
the texture of its rind
you will never lay yours eyes

Oh to what surprise
crying your eyes blind
accomplishes nothing but anguish

i immersed in your lines and i found
you wrote about me,
but none for me.

With a raw heart I swing the monkey bars of life. Day by Day.
I pray weak prayers for warm rays of hope to thaw these parts of me.
Make the picture pleasing again.
Swing by swing, He breathes into my spirit,
"feel the rawness"
"taste with thanksgiving"
"listen to the life"
"behold the blessing"
Point, Press, Focus
at once, the swings are of less significance.
When the Lord is at the center of my viewfinder
Weakness was the answer to my prayers
Coldness becomes a picture of beauty.

I felt these words bouncing
Inside My skull; I laughed.
The tips were razorblades.
This is my burning soul.

I felt these words come out
Of me.
They are dancing on the floor.
This is my blooming heart.

I felt your lips on mine, and I
Sighed.
I knew June wouldn't let me
Keep this.
It would leave, like you.

I felt these words bouncing
Inside my skull.
Tap, tap, tap.
Tap, tap, tap,
Tap, tap. Tap.
They're nothing.
They're everything.
They are names, faces, and senses.

I felt these words bouncing
Inside my skull.

I know now what they mean.

When each syllable turns into a dance
across your lips,
I can only imagine what it would be like
If I took your hand and stopped you.
When each alliterative phrase swings from
My lips, My only thought is

"Stop me."

When our verses fall silent and the falling snow
Turns into thunder,
I can only imagine what it would be like
If you made my heart beat louder.

You sit gathered in

Robes wielding knives

From your sleeves;

How determined are you?

Did you agree this death

Behind closed doors?

Assassins in closets,

Knives in their craws,

A ****** of crows pecking

A dying wolf's paws.

How calm you lie

While you hide the knife

You used to slay me;

How calm and sure.

Did you hesitate

To put me in the ground?

Was it hard to push it in

Without a sound?