Love hurts like hot candle wax on your fingertips- burns and stings with real heat, but you try again every time to leave it perfectly whole- separation of finger from waxy shell ends in crumbled pieces as does lover from lover turned friend or enemy, heart wounded but fixable- just put it back into the candle.
It's true, isn't it? I mean, you wouldn't really think of it so simply, but I know I'm right.
I like writing poetry. Not all of it is going to be a historical epic or an ode to something. These are like little glimpses of the subway in my mind; my train of thought isn't always artsy or symbolic or deep or meaningful, but I like to think that art takes ordinary things and makes people see a sort of beauty in them. So, look around- I've been doing this for a while. Enjoy ♥
No comments:
Post a Comment