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You are where the sea and the sky meet-A line of the horizon that many have tried to reachBut so magnificent, so beautiful, so ever changing,that no one can help themselves There are stories you tell of merfolk and fae, that you know like they are
time is like sand it slips right through your fingers. you can hold on  and squeeze as tight as you can but in the end it slips right through your fingers  
time is like sand it slips right through your fingers. you can hold on  and squeeze as tight as you can but in the end it slips right through your fingers  
The first sign of spring is like this should be new year’s, not the era of the dead, icebox hand of winter clutching Mother Nature,   like the fingers of the pastel, cotton-candy dawn
Dear Best Friend,
Go to a museum and look at a painting Observe it carefully…you got it? Good Now close your eyes and describe the painting Did it have meaning? How was the technique? Was the artist famous? Did you feel any emotions?
I don't know what to write, I don't know what to write I would ask for help but I don't want to be a burden when I'm stuck in my own head because I'm still hurting
I drove through the city today.The one you always tell me about.The old bricks seemed to scream your name.And my heart, it burned hotter than the forges of the factory fires.I wish I could tell you about it.
I don’t talk a lot At first And I hope that that’s okay But once I know your warmth And feel safe letting words escape When I know they and I don’t annoy you Then I’ll tell you
Nothing is as magical as a good book, Nor as deep as the ocean, Or as sharp as a knife.   Nothing is as strong as a bear, Nor as silent as a mouse,
The lady falls like the dying leavesSoft and slow, forlorn and sweetOn a whim, she gives her heartWanting only to play her partYou speak, she hangs on every wordYou smile, she burnsYou touch, she shivers
Love is purple. It smells like fresh flowers. It tastes like chocolate melting in your mouth. It sounds like a heart pounding. It feels like the warmth from a fire. It looks like a goodbye hug in an airport.
  His skin is a rounded tan feather on an eagle's spread wings His hair dark, damp pavement that glistens in the sun. His eyes a chocolate bar that melts in your mouth while devoured.  
Due
I am uncertain, What should I write? My mind, a swirl of thoughts, Each with its own story, Yet I can not choose!   My time is running out, My poem will soon be due,
Me without a filter is a home without the realtor I'm independent I'm meant to be more than what society's telling me selling me without the sticker that says I'm old, off the kilter
White as snow. The dead trees With no leaves. Animals hibernating In a deep sleep. The night is silent. The water flows Calmly. Woosh! Woosh! The wind blows in, Giving the night
My hair has always reminded me of the ocean
I'm a mess
Brokenness is crumbling, cracked blue It sounds like pottery carelessly shattered on tiled floors. It smells like a dry, humid summer day.
Morning sounded prettier to a young girl than the afternoon. Piegon toed and bugged eyed walking to the bustop at an early time she did not know existed Saw the most human beings she'd ever seen in her life: 20.
     At the age of 7, I found a passion for literature that I had been raised to value. My mother new the benefits of opening the door to a positive outlet for a young woman that was destined to go through Hell and high water.
We walked hand-in-hand Through the woods With the sun at our backs The air tasting like salt And the sound of water hitting rocks, We approached the lake. It's funny, I'm the size of an
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