Any moment where you feel like you need someone to hold,
There’s always a pen and pad to pick up and write out those feelings in bold.
Thing about Poetry is,
There’s never a time where you’re really alone,
When you flow along with every word your soul is shouting till the day comes to a close…
All I know is what is known to coast,
Through every vein pumping hope into a heart marred by every blow,
Every hit and the smoke!
Memories I still struggle to outgrow.
That would be a rhythm only these eyes can see,
Even if I’ve had blurry vision ever since I’ve been a kid that couldn’t see clearly.
I would be the guy assigned to the back of the class,
With a pen and pad,
Only allowing this flow to steer me.
Passed a glass house begging to shatter any second I wake into a world that seems to fear me…
That shield protecting you from every shard trying to cut your heart wide open.
The sword slicing through the limbs of each demon undermining your atonement.
A tissue when you cry and pour out your own sea of emotions.
Your reminder to never think of picking up a bottle no matter how potent…
It can never equal to the ink dripping from the bottom of your quill,
As you fly past the bullshit.
Instead of packing up a bowl of wax,
You can dab a reason not to burn away a future by the fires lit by your impulses.
Seems so damn hard!
You always fall in love with the orange in which you eat the pulp of…
I’d love to hold whom I believe my soulmate is,
That pain is dead meat as you taste every fruit a stanza has to offer.
All I’ve had was Poetry ever since the day I had lost her.
I couldn’t be happier,
As I move on intertwined with a love I know I can foster!
Into a life where I stand with a smile.
Stronger than ever before…