Poetry is what surrounds you, the air you breath, the the golden sunset you see, the chirping birds you hear, yet the wind that blows off your clothes such that we see your naked mind.
Popular Posts
-
Is it true I'm a teeenage goon That I be reprimanded this soon. Is it true I, ghetto girl, dress indecently That I’m a...
-
What is it about me? That though yearning To be beyond reproach I always find myself wanting The much I strive to toe the line ...
-
She would weep every night Her ever present smile would fade Every time he announced his arrival With drank slurred vulgar tu...
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment