77 أجزاء مكتمِلة I may just be a girl. No one special. Nothing compared to others. In the eyes of the universe, I am just a little speck of dust. My light may not shine very bright, and it may not be of any use, but I am me. Writing is my only escape out of this world. I cry rivers of ink and climb mountains of words. I may not write as well as others, but my writing is just a different style. They're my feelings. I really do hope you can connect to some of the work in here. Please, do not copy any of this work without informing me first. Thank you!
"My Escape"
I have a supply,
In the closet near my bed,
Of past memories,
Hanging by a thread.
A thread,
Connected to my mind,
That thread,
Just follows me around.
I have a hole,
In the middle of my heart,
That hole fills up,
When someone's torn apart.
I have a tear,
Accompanying my lonely eye,
Knowing, whenever I'm alone,
I can sit in a corner and cry.
Even though,
These things are there,
I still have ink, a notebook, and a pen,
To care.
I write and write,
To my heart's desire,
New feelings erupt,
By the hour.
Writing is,
My one escape,
In this cruel and careless world,
I have the power, to awake.
"A Story Without Words"
A story told,
In a little tune,
A golden smile,
And a shining tear,
Rolling down my cheek.
A little breeze,
The nice sun,
A marvelous day,
Turned into a wet one.
The memories dripped,
Down on my cotton white shirt,
Leaving stains,
On my malicious heart.
Your smile,
Worth a thousand words,
Can't cheer up
This depressive mind.
A storm bewildered,
Your indecisive mind,
Drowning me,
In my reckless thoughts.
A rainy day,
A gleaming lie,
A story not told,
With words
Nor sounds.
This story is,
But a mere thought,
In this universe
We share,
Every night.
This story is,
A withering storm,
Drifting off,
In this careless soul.
This story is,
Not told with sounds,
But a never ending blow,
Of swirling emotions,
Bottled up inside.
