White streaks of paint on a blue canvas.
Images in my head of a day with pleasant skies,
Rather than the thunder clouds that plague our minds.
The booming anger is unnecessary in the skies of our bodies.
The pressure that builds up and explodes with a crack, and a boom;
And then the rains fall down my face-
dropping off the bottom of my chin.
I wear them with pride, hiding no weakness, hiding no scars.
I don't shy away from another's gaze.
I look them in the eyes so they can see that even though I might be damaged, that I am also okay.
YOU ARE READING
The Process of
PoesiaThis whole book is a poem made up of smaller poems. It's a story of someone that is struggling through life. It's up to you to decipher your own story through this. #7 in haiku July 18, 2018 #1 in enlightenment July 18, 2018 -EasonV (Free verse and...
