Truest Lies.
T he ink scribbles onto pieces of tattered paper...
What makes a poem?
Is it the rhyme and flow...
An angel I have spied
came to me one stormy night...
I look in the mirror everyday
i guess I'm expecting something to change...
Bitter nightmares flash back infront of eyes,
Tip of tongue stung 'till poetry could stand...
If the sun rises in the east
and sinks in the west which way does the earth...
Hush, little sister,
Try to clean up that mess of a heart...
The problem with going to a school of excellence...
But for the Good prizes, there is always the bad...
I've lost my inspiration to write,
Can't think what to talk about...
This night I try,
To utter a compliment...
Tickling the emerald leaves out there
shining through your windowpane...
She crawls through the door
shivering...