Poetry Through me

When the sun is asleep and the moon is awake

That is when the ideas begin to ache

In my mind. Fighting for a way out 

There has to be a way, no doubt. 

I search for an opening

it gets harder to keep focusing.

I grab a pad and pen

rethink all of those things again.

Let the thoughts spill out of the tip of my fingers

on the lined white pages my mind lingers

and leaves traces of me

I am feeling like I am becoming free.

My mind losening its grip

on the ponders that make a quiver in my lip.

Poetry is who I can speak to

when I am feeling blue.

When no one else is here

to comfort me and my tears.