I am the once was wet blanket, tumble dry only to the party time fiend, only on certain occasions for short duration, no time past bed time and minus annoying relations. I am the roller coaster hater turned hesitant liker; in no time at all I’ll be a rough and tumble biker (sarcasm brought to you by you friendly neighborhood soccer streaker I mean, striker). I am changing like the grass is growing like the wind is blowing and repainting the clouds in the skies, tricking your eyes into seeing different things, the different aspects of me. So put aside your one-lined descriptions, and get ready for something that can't be written- I am a mess of colors and words, smells and songs you probably haven't heard. I am nothing that you can be- I am strictly and uniquely made me.
I think this is about maturing and being uniquely yourself, uncontainable/ "fearfully and wonderfully made".
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 ♥
1 comment:
i. love this. i feel like i relate soooo much. but then again, i suppose we all mature at some point (well, almost all of us hah). especially "i am a mess of colors and words, smells and songs you probably haven't heard." yesyesyesexactly. HAHA if you read that wrong, you'll find "sex" lol. whatever, no room for spaces. one fluid thought.
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