There is no composure or cuteness
Behind most of our beautiful moments when we are most alive,
Like when you are laughing so hard that your belly hurts.
There is just a face contoured out of shape from bliss of the moment,
A mouth wide open from the un-repressed squeal rising from the pit of your stomach,
With your face at your not picture perfect angle while your head is thrown back
Without a care in the world except for here and now in this moment.
I guess sometimes that's what being alive looks like
YOU ARE READING
LOVE LETTERS
PoetryPoetry is my truth. It's the one place where I can't lie or hide, not even to myself. It's a truth or nothing ground for me. This book is a collection of what I call love letters to myself and hopefully to you. It's a collection of sentiments that I...
