poetry
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I don’t have to say much to feel. You understand my silence as music, and when you speak, I do not miss a beat. I contemplate my desire for you, suppressing it beneath my desperate need for simplicity. I don’t need you to make me happy, or to fix a part of me. I am
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For some, the lips only speak what the tongue allows. The eyes say more— but I trust only the walk. How deliberate are your steps, that when you move, I believe you’ve left? We paint with frivolous words. But our actions— they’re the only things we ever commit to, no matter the condition. And our
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Will you still make me seem foolish amid your lack of interest? I gain nothing with uncertainty, maybe that’s why I have grown bored with games. Regardless of the time, I still respect you. I still see you in a light of your own. I still think you’re intriguing or whatever word that fits. I’ve reprimanded myself for treating
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If you hear me grant me peace for a minute. I can not live with this chaos. I am a dim flame that dances to keep others warm. Do you understand? Do you even care? Is my voice like the morning birds singing their tune; do you listen for your amusement? If we are to believe; we
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The sound of the ivories being played lifts attention to my beating heart. The melody so sweet and without charm pierces my senses. I sing out into an open space, finding myself in a clearing where my wilted flowers lie. A once beautiful meadow built for color and life. I blame the sun, the moon,
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Maybe coincidences happen But your curiosity is a burden. I want you to take a moment, Like I took a year. Calling out to the old times I need to know, what survived? With a kiss of nostalgia We are staring down a two-way mirror. Take your minute to see me, As I get my
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I do not mind being the villain in your story, but I hope you know you are the hero in mine. You broke me so I could find my worth beyond my wayward mind. How far does your hatred reach? How high does your love fly? Find me in that place; I will wait. -AB Song
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It is not fair, the flaws Light only seems to acknowledge. A darkness that unearths words that should not be said, shakes a footing that was barely stable. We listen for the impact like news of a coming storm. We listen for the rain and wonder when the clouds will part. Beyond the things we
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I live with a writers anxiety where the words that reside in my head obsess over print. Anxiety so strong that my thoughts have formed into a narration. I recite lines in my head ignoring our current conversation. “Wait, what did you say?” “Please, can you repeat that?” Nervous laughter as my only contribution. Incessantly,
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How do you start a letter to an old friend? To an old lover that loves turned bitter? Once feigning indifference, Month’s later prone to my own hearts negligence. I’m on rooftops with inebriated thoughts; Those choices we made cost a love lost. How long did you wait before your loneliness got the better of
Wishful Thinking 