The chances of sleep were slim to begin with, so last night I focused on breathing, letting my tears soak my pillow freely.
Last night was a long and lonely trek moving with the moon.
I pulled my hair and sighed until my body was numb; too exhausted to twitch.
My mind was scrambled more than ever, and as I turned over in the grave which I call my bed, I longed for nothing but you beside me so I could listen to your even breathing.
I went to a family party today and time has made itself apparent to me and it was so overwhelming.
Aunts and uncles have extra lines around their eyes
The kids who used to play hide and seek now hold a glass of wine in their hand; no longer a child but a young adult.
It seems life has gone so quickly, I am no longer the little girl searching for the hidden Easter eggs, I am now the one hiding them.
Your extended hand looked so far away
yet so close.
You called upon me.
You control my hand, you control my pen.
You are my words
beginning on my tongue to leaving my lips
to bleeding on the blank paper.
You are my poetry.
” We do not write poetry because it is cute. We write poetry because we are of the human race, and the human race is filled with passion.”