A posting of every poem that I've ever written ...in continuation, as I write new things and express myself.
Experience everything that lies behind my eyes.
I am not very active on this site and only have used it to draw out my talents and express...
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Mamma, I want to make you proud, but I don't know why the clock keeps talking to me. "It takes blood, sweat, and tears." It says. These words only appeal together after you've felt each individual one tick in you repeatedly.
I want to do something, be something, but the ink spilling over my paper of onto the floor, with each "tick" feels unbearable. I begin to count down on my days.
My fingers marked with one thousand unfelt kisses, and fifty more broken vessels that flex when I once again bring the words they want to paper, the numbers they want to paper. My lower region, unmistakably shaped to fit a desk that has taken beatings of lectures beyond me.
Sitting here I know I'm making you proud. But what if you knew about the thoughts that come and go by with each "tick" of the clock? What if you knew that somewhere in my mind, I'm everywhere... anywhere but here?
I want the world for mine, the earth for myself, but when I get my feet into the dirt.... It laughs at me. I want the night sky for love, the stars for him, but when I try and pick them out for him, I get lost. They too laugh at me. I want this work for you. This time, success for you. I'll do this to make you happy... I'll try my best!
Movement, as the students rush from class, like marbles across a wet floor. I look up and sigh, as the clock now laughs at me.
