• Poetry is....
    the way i feel.
    these written words are my tears.
    they show my fears.
    without pointing out the blame
    spittin s**t back at him.

    just a letter from this hidden box of my semi existence.
    livin the lfe he's failed to many times to take.
    i force this creature, of hell, who sits upon my box
    to look down at me and know how i feel.
    i force this creature to do my bidin.
    and yet he isn't mad

    my tears aren't worth his time
    aren't worth his fuss.
    who am i to him
    as he sits upon me.
    what good does my letter do.
    just water hitting paper.
    formin words that breath life and lets everyone know

    the child being sat upon
    locked inside this box
    wont give or or give in with out a fight.
    and that's really all my poerty is.

    an unheard scream of a
    cryin, dying child trapped in a box
    just waitn to come out.
    and be her own creature