I like watching those tiny tots at the beach. It’s kind of listening to the ballads. Like the slow build up when someone strums up, They come, holding on to the li’l finger of Parents or rather these days Mostly, grandparents. Casting eyes here and there Kicking sand everywhere.. Now you see them tugging On the hands and command “come come”. It’s a joy to watch them trot Around wriggly giggly beaming at Everyone and amused at Themselves, mainly.
And then, cued on a crescendo, They would just take off, Leaving the hapless parents on a Chasing spree spreading Cheers and sunshine around. Like spirits sans shackles, Lifting above far and beyond.
Look into their eyes. Eager, wanting to know. Wanting to know what they got themselves into. Fresh faces, years before the first wrinkle. Blank slates hanging on our every word. Each time, a clean slate pregnant with potential. Each time,
With the essence of elegance, And with the timelessness of beautified brilliance, My mind knows there’s not a word in existence, That could ever explain or express, What my eyes see in this moment that’s left my world in a
An innocent small girl is crying on the roadside her face seems very candid and expressions look naïve, but nobody knows the cause of her sadness and and no one can ever feel the hidden wounds inside her heart Why
She was four and I was six. We held hands and ate pixie stix. The big head little girl whom followed me around the corner. Soon we became friends. We held hands with skin like bricks. I cleansed her hands
My sweet saccharin smile feigned just for you, even shines in my eyes as I mentally plot your destruction. Small talk and lies drip from my lips like poisoned honey. No sleepless nights plague me, not even a minuscule pang