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Ending the stigma through poetry
The melancholy poet is not weak. You just choose to see her sad face instead of her battle scars.
How am I supposed to be the voice of reason for others when I am still asking questions myself?
I do not need drugs to get high I do not need alcohol to get drunk My mind already does that on its’ own
I am the woman your mother warned you about Do not fall in love with a woman like me I am like the rose in the garden you pick For its’ beauty I am not the rose petals my dear I am the thorns… Continue Reading “Thorns”
The thing between my legs is nowhere near as important as the thing in my head. If you can not realize this, then you are part of the problem.
The old man holds up an old black and white photo. The tears run down his grief stricken face. He softly says while staring at the picture, “I enjoy sleep the most. That’s when I get to see your lovely face. Until we meet… Continue Reading “Heaven’s Gates”
Empathy Poetry 