A few of my oldest poems I posted on my Instagram years ago.
I put several of them on this one post since they are so short.
Writing had been therapeutic for me, to articulate what I'm going through at the time.
It's interesting for me to read what I wrote and see ways I progressed.
To be abandoned feels like hell.
I hate when that's how we feel.
It infuses into us--abusing all our trust.
While the heat dwells within--melting our string of love to ends--it stings and stays.
Filling each with transparent welts and pain
At the end of my life, I'd look back and feel dumb
If I put off all effort until the "right moment" has come.
Reflection (not with mirrors) reveal angles we slump.
Let's set aside our doubts and climb up out this dump.
Is your mind a sanctuary, or a jail cell.
Do you live like you want to, or is your life a hell.
If a preachers words don't make sense to me
I rearrange the words until a message they bring.
Disposing of frustration is ultimately hard.
If I kicked it's face, it'd disperse to more parts.
If I try to cross an ocean, it stalks me as a shark.
When I do my best, it says negative remarks.
I cloak it with costumes, then it rips them apart. ~
I finally asked, "How did you start?"
I waited for ages till it spoke it's part:
"If life allowed my demise, you'd always feel satisfied.
Assuming you did right, whether or not you tried.
When busy minds run rabid with ripples-
like shots fired by a dizzy rabbit's pistol,
it leaves the brain full of untamed missiles,
making the core hard to see clear
like a rearview mirror full of rain smears
Maybe they're right, and we are dreamers;
At least we're the ones awake.
My original post is on my Instagram, where I post my art periodically.
(these excerpts were from 2015)
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