My feelings are not words, so
my small hands grasp for
a way to express this
jumbled and knotted thing
that lives inside of me.
My feelings, however, stay
out of reach, and my
fingers clasp empty air,
useless in their
solidity.
Next up- liquid & gas. Maybe plasma :D
Yes, another poem about how I suck at explaining things.
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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