And as she walks away tears streaming down her face she hopes to leave colors on her wake.. And as she walks away tears streaming down her face she prays that someone will follow her.. No one did. But she left her mark. —A short poem I wrote while in a public transport queue
What it'd be like to be everywhere all at once; to see the world in different sets of eyes.
I consider myself as a poet, not a good one, but I know my words are something. It helps me express myself just like everybody else's ways how to share himself to the world. At the same time, I want to be a poem. Someone's poem. Someone's choice of words. Someone's favorite lines to utter. … Continue reading A POET; A POET NOT
Her head tuck under his chin Shutting out the world outside a place filled with paranoia She is on tiptoe His hands on her waist a feeling much stronger than nostalgia Two persons in love Enclosed by a blissed-out glass a snow globe of euphoria