Onaventea

https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B1cnqeaYMAvPaWtMT0M2ZW0tajQ/view?usp=sharing
          	
          	Here's an edited, more finalised copy of my chapbook. No doubt there are still grammatical errors and things to improve but I'd just like to put it out there :)

Onaventea

Hello there. Well it's been a solid afternoon in the making, but I've essentially created my very first Chapbook/compilation/novella/pdf containing my favourite poems. Nearly 60 pages of Poetry goodness, " Sweet Dirt; The Writer's Lament " is a compilation of my 15 favourite poems (most of which can be read here) and are extremely amateur. However, they have gone through a quick editing process so they should be a bit more coherent. I hope to read them one day when I am much more skilled and experienced in the craft. Until then, here's a link for everyone:
          https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B1cnqeaYMAvPdEtpWXNYX0wxbHM/view?usp=sharing
          
          Remember to read the segment at the end entitled 'Background'. 
          Enjoy! :)

Onaventea

Friendship is the relationship of my life. It’s where I always put my energy, it’s my truth. It’s the way I was born, it’s what I feel right now. I honestly wouldn't be alive without the presence of some significant figures of my life. ButI mean real friendship; I trust my friends to say things that I won’t want to hear, and vice versa. We don’t agree on everything and we don’t have to because friends don’t leave each other over that. We even fight sometimes, because honesty is love, honesty is respect, honesty is knowing there’s someone to catch you even when you do the wrong things. So that’s my life right now.

Onaventea

There's a limp wonk to the night?
          It's licking time slowly; a daunting lollipop,
          Slack shoelaces drooping from the ceiling, 
          A heated fog meeting the dark,
          A ghost waltzing the Milky Way,
          Some slashed wrists stitched to the thighs,
          The evening blues and midnight highs,
          The Brain has been straightened out from it's labyrinth,
          Into a dead scarf, dragging the desert with it, 
          Can you feel the seasons elapsing already?
          Winter coats dancing into the auburn Autumn,
          Hands holstered into gloves,
          And tombstones radiating the frost,
          I've got so many photos but so little frames,
          In what is, a waning high.