i used to be so creative
whenever i would write,
i would write about giant sunflowers,
and how your chocolate-brown eyes twinkled under the sunlight,
i used to write about statues in museums,
and about wildflowers,
i used to write about how your fingers caressed my skin,
sending magnifying shudders,
a year may be short,
but it's long enough to fit so many changes,
i made one too many mistakes,
and i admit i've been reckless,
the weight of it all,
is making sharp pangs in my chest,
i wanted to say i'm sorry,
but i don't know how to word it best,
i used to be creative in writing,
but you cannot bloom creativity in saying sorry
other than to say everything in its naked truth,
instead of plastering words that seems so fancy.
YOU ARE READING
a hurricane of blues | poetry book 2 ✔
Poetry[ poetry and prose book 2 ] ❝you're so good at comforting others but who's comforting you?❞ a shelf of poems and proses containing the chaos and pain of heartache, loneliness, anger, grief, and sadness. s t a r t e d : f e b r u a r y 2 0 2 1 e n d...
