I have words that are written.
Words that are brought upon paper by unfathomable emotions.
I write what I feel and know,
If I did not then there is no point in writing.
A thousand words can descend upon me by one emotion.
A bit melodramatic is how I appear on these pages.
Yet I shelter my emotions in my heart near another soul's presence.
I feel like an English novel.
My emotions can only appear if you read the pages to my heart.
I do not cry easily:
My heart grieves more for unreachable things.
Do I truly feel who I am.
What exactly is me?
I know what I identify myself as.
I am a writer , an optimist , a poet, a psychological problem to myself.
It's too late for me to grasp what I want.
I had my crossbow aimed at you, but I threw it to the earth.
It is the earth's now.
I do not want to steal it back.
YOU ARE READING
Simply Words
PoetryExperience the second part to my poetry book Threads of Words. Inside is poetry of love, loss, and nature. Essentially, this is more of my thoughts and feelings transformed into poetry. "And you descended upon me like a flash of torrential lightni...
