I want to do something dangerously impulsive
Heyo Friendo, the name's Pink! Welcome to my corner of the internet. I reblog a lot of art, and sometimes post my own ^-^
Why must my poems
hold any less value than those
by "professionals"?
Terrified to be noticed, terrified to be seen,
yet terrified to die with nobody to hear me scream.
Do I want to be noticed, want to be seen,
or disappear in a crowed of faces lost somewhere in between?
You okay?
Tired. Burning out.
Determined to continue,
with no time to sleep.
It has been a time
since I've written poetry.
I ponder my words,
counting syllables,
remembering how to write
simple, meaningful,
expression of thought.
Little comes to mind, and yet,
I write anyways.
.
I write for myself
as I always have; speaking
in patterns, for fun.