You wonder why I so love to write, Coz’ I got this so feeling that seems to be right! Found this girl who is a figure of life, Just love her like my well future wife.
She painted me things that I haven’t ever seen, Her smiles are sparkles like a fluffy scene. I always look forward to listen to her, She speaks really fine and I so adore her.
I always see her singing like a dazzling princess, Will she notice me in me my ever cutest glances? If she won’t talk or even stare at me? That’s fine! She brought me so much joy and put me on this line.
Thanks for bringing out the best in me. You are the reason why I see myself in certainty. Though you have no idea how you changed my fate, Forever to admire you girl and that’s my pretty faith.
Reality is something that you can hardly deal with. Reality sucks! Maybe it's rare for someone having no worries and troubles in life.For the last 10 years of my life, I began writing fictional stories and poems. I write stories which are little bit exaggerated and unreal. I must say that they are product of my wildest imagination.However, I write poems about people. I started to write poems ever since I was high school. Whenever I meet people, I write poems about them. I'm a well reserved person who can't tell things constantly. I think that one of the best ways of expressing my thoughts is through writing and share it here in this websiteThese poems describe the spectacular craziness and real experiences with people around me. It's about different roller coaster emotions about fake and real people. This is a collection of my poems of love, hatred and sarcasm...To my haters, friends, loved ones and to the most special someone in my life...I am dedicating this for you..."Spend 5 minutes with me and I'll write something about you..."
All braced to face the day, The diurnal engine ignited, Gently revving up, Barging into the quietude Of the colony, With a daily prayer escaping His mumbling lips, As he steered mildly Into the road, To see a car pulled
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