Protective. Jealousy.
Two words that describe my feelings,
intertwined under my surface.
It's all because
she steals the attention
that I attempt to gain,
but you never seem to see
how i long for it.
And just as it is in reach,
she snatches it,
and in a moments notice,
it's gone,
as if it never existed.
Then I feel hurt,
and I shut down,
you think it's from stress,
but I know the real reason.
Couldn't you give me
just a little attention?
My poetry has been lacking lately, I just haven't had any real inspirtation.. this one just seems to be a collaboration of thoughts...
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Disappearing Act
All she wanted,
was to disappear
so she packed her bags,
and drove here.
She went on running,
just to get away,
even though part of her wanted to stay.
Through all their fear,
they hoped and prayed
that she had stayed.
So they kept on looking,
searching the streets,
but they never find her,
because she succeeded.
She disappeared.
I admit, this isn't my best piece of work, but I needed to write. Most of my other stuff is better. I'm not sure if I was saying that more to convince your or to convince myself.
was to disappear
so she packed her bags,
and drove here.
She went on running,
just to get away,
even though part of her wanted to stay.
Through all their fear,
they hoped and prayed
that she had stayed.
So they kept on looking,
searching the streets,
but they never find her,
because she succeeded.
She disappeared.
I admit, this isn't my best piece of work, but I needed to write. Most of my other stuff is better. I'm not sure if I was saying that more to convince your or to convince myself.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Inspiration, or lack thereof.
I keep searching,
but it eludes me;
there's nothing there.
I want to write,
to have words flow from me
like water from a cupped hand.
But those words,
they never come.
They leave me empty,
they leave me desirous.
I keep searching for words
that aren't meant to be found.
I want to be inspired.
Perhaps lack of inspiration
is inspiration in itself.
but it eludes me;
there's nothing there.
I want to write,
to have words flow from me
like water from a cupped hand.
But those words,
they never come.
They leave me empty,
they leave me desirous.
I keep searching for words
that aren't meant to be found.
I want to be inspired.
Perhaps lack of inspiration
is inspiration in itself.
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