Tonight
I write about pain.
Tonight
I am the odd one out of the even
the blue among the yellow
the suppressed sob
the hole in my sock
the mud on freshly washed jeans
the thunder in the rain
and not even the comforting types.
Tonight
I write about sorrow.
Tonight
I am the clouds blocking a full moon
the messed up eyeliner
the one-size-too-small dress
the cold nights
the messages left on read
the breeze seeping through my skin
and it doesn't make me feel loved.
Tonight
I write about being alone.
Tonight
I am the void in space
the remaining leaf on a tree
the white canvas
the last bit of sunlight
the draining battery
the only star in the night sky
and I'm not even bright.
Tonight
I write sad poetry.
YOU ARE READING
Midnight Garden of Words
PoetryIn a world surrounded by darkness lies a wondrous place where all it takes is one look a few steps before you're lost dancing under the twenty-six stars known as letters shining bright over the midnight garden of words.
