i never thought
i was the type of girl
whose tragedies turned into fears
until i caught a glimpse
of my demons
creeping back up on me;
this time,
they came from the reflection
in your eyes
instead of his suffocating tongue

I'm never going to cry again
Even if it comes in season
Or blows in on the Eastern wind
My crying days are through

I've had more than my share of it
I could name off all the reasons
Then you would know why I need to quit
All because of you

Never again will I laugh out loud
Joy itself has lost all meaning
No longer to even think about
The less I have to do

Never going to show an ounce of pain
Am I the only who doesn't believe me
Wait, here come the tears again
Running down the face of this love struck fool

I swore I was never going to cry again
All my senses seem to be leaving
Just when I thought I had reached the end
Again I think of you

Would it be considered suicide
If I failed to see the truth
Or listen to friends time and again
That the gun in my hand was you

Who was it that purchased the bullets
Who spun the magazine
Who left the fatal shot in the chamber
Who caused this horrific scene

As it goes it doesn't much matter
The shot has already been fired
The end couldn't have come quickly enough
The hole straight through the heart

So I ask...

Would it be considered suicide
If I failed to see the truth
Or listen to friends time and again
That the gun in my hand was you

My Mom and Dad done told me
Sister Sally said the same
This poetry writing day and night
Is getting out of hand

I'm always thinking of a new rhyme
It is that I can use
And when it comes to poetry
That's all I want to do

These days I'm getting nothing done
With my chores around the farm
When this poetry all got started
I didn't see any harm

Now the chickens are in the pasture
The cows are in the coup
Guess it was bound to happen
When you mix poetry in the stew

My teachers they done told me
The guidance counselor told me too
I'll never get anywhere in life
If poetry is all I want to do

Now I no longer do my homework
And I no longer go to school
No need for Arithmetic or History
When all I want is poetry

Cause that's what it is I'm good at
Pretty much that and nothing else
Just give me pen and paper
And poetry is what comes out

So as I go about my business
Working the rhythm into the rhyme
Leave me and my poetry be
Can't you see we're doing just fine

I write for my strange obsession for the darkness that lingers from the Gallow of my mind.
I write for me, I write for you.
I write for the comfort it gives me, like a soft velvety hand but instead... A pen.
I write to see the night threw.
I write for the thoughts which would classify me mad in daily conversation but when it's poetry...... It's nothing but a poem.
I write to express my feelings when I'm longing for love or fear.
I write to hide from reality
I write to stay real.
For those who ask why I write I'll probably just say, I like to,
But for those who want to know the truth... I'll write it for you.