Things I left on paper, wasn't for others to read
I let it just the way I needed it to be,
I held in my life the happiest hours that made
I dance among the rain,
I had the darkest hours that made me bleed in ink.
Yet, what I write and what I feel is apart of me.
Oh, you scrutinizing eyes that are always looking
at me in hast, going around criticizing me,
what an episode of craziness.
If anyone must know, this is my own show,
I write to set my soul at ease,
away to free my spirit from what ills me,
I cry in my own writings,
I put my pains down on paper as an outlet.
What I left on paper wasn't for others to read,
It has no beginning or an ending yet,
I am somewhere in between,
where the tears and fears met.
Now, all my words are on the scroll of fame.
Yet, I don't feel ashamed, but I give so many
the blame, for going around trying so hard
to shame my name, But, as you can see,
I'm now the queen bee of the sting.
While you haters and your scrutinizing eyes
goes around overlook all good meanings
about me, just find shame that became famous,
I know you should feel the pains of me.
The wrath of my darken past has its own way
of an attack, so watch your backs.
what I left on paper wasn't yours to read.
Oh, look at them act like the espionage,
that watered down my words, to weaken
the beauty of my own talents,
yet, they go around trying to use my style.
Trying to kill the true flavor of meanings,
to take my word and make them dull and untasteful.
But it wasn't for long, my words I had
left upon paper, became miniseries.
Oh, look now, I'm being charmed and protected
from hateful lies that had been cast aside.
I swear nothing moved in the room,
all hatefulness lost an endorsement.
whereas words incomplete conversations
didn't get a request from me.
It is time for me to take the step
and to never give them a fragile response.
I stand up for what is mine, I wrote my final line.
What I have written on paper, was never for anyone
to see or read. What is mine, is mine,
and it wasn't for scrutiny.
I wrote my day of true conflict of my own life,
the sofa is where I lay to rest my head,
it wouldn't for long until something crossed my mind,
stuff that has been buried for some time.
Soon, I will have to rebury them again.
So, you scrutinizing eyes of hatefulness,
what are you doing with what belongs to me?
What I left on paper was never for you to see or read.
- Judy Emery © 2018
The Queen Of Darken Dreams Poetic Lilly Emery
