Hi… I have a name But I don’t think it’s important now I promised this poem a span ago And ever since, I have been sitting here With this pen on paper Blank pieces on paper But it will never mean that my mind is blank Wondering on what to say, how to unleash these words on my throat So much more has processed on my mind Words that struggle to be free
If I finally managed to unleash it Would it really paint the longing picture? Or would it even prick that part of your heart Dear, would you bother make time to just run through these words Or the script would just vanish into thin air And drift into the clouds, freeze and maybe fall as rain somewhere unknown. For I believe the power of these words will never die When I imagine writing, I describe her, One who touched the core of my heart? So I write on my mind, as best as I can, and every single time She sounds a lot like you…yes a lot like you.
I’m a prisoner -A prisoner of my mind. I can’t be free. I can’t be me. Locked in by anxiety, interrogated by insecurity, and depression is barricading the door. With no room to breathe, I can feel my lungs collapse
Unthinkable. Lithograph of a malaise. I cannot talk. Will you abandon the thought and care about the drowning dawn? The bandaged ego of the book threatens the reader. Come and solve the puzzle of poetry. Everything was quiet except the
Within the imagination I am content to live This is my stay I see how plenty, how ever-expanding it is The ‘All’ a rich array Of ever-rotating colors with which to paint And never fade away This is my stay