My beartbeat is the sound of a thousand pounding drums inside my chest. A very merry nervous tune played against my xylophone ribcage breast. My breath dances in my throat and ears. I am musical for you, but you are not close enough to hear.
Some people get noticeably nervous when they're around someone they like. I haven't noticed anything that might give me away, but my insides sure do go crazy.
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 ♥
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