Click here to add this poet to your My Favorite Poets.
Brigitt Rodriguez Poems
It Was Music
I felt every strum of the bass like a sledgehammer to my heart, and still could not bring myself to stop listening Each chord resonated within my flesh
Not Feeling It
Every time we kiss Every time we touch When are bodies are close together Or I feel your breath on my skin
No Love of His
The love of a father. It's always so underestimated People saying it doesn't even compare, To the love of a mother
How He Makes Me Feel
When I see his face my world turns upside down, my heart begins to race and he takes away my frown
I don't remember how you smell But I do remember there was no farewell
Close My Eyes
Let me close my eyes let me stop the tears from running Lungs from breathing Let me stop the pain from hurting
Depressed? Nay, that is not me Only stressed, I’m sure you’ll see Say that you once saw me in a corner But I tell you, I am no loner
How I See It
Why is it that we can find 1,000 positive things about the most undeserving people around us, but we can only find flaws in ourselves...? I look in the mirror and what do I see?
How You Make Me Feel
A change of heart from, How He Makes Me Feel I act as if it doesn’t faze me
Some say that I’m nothing but I already know Some say that I’m pathetic that it’s all just a show
Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
Dripping, dripping broken heart Who, I wonder, tore you apart Blood that once flowed through your soul Now leaks out that gaping hole
You Don't Know Me
To any person that has ever told me what I can or cannot do You don't know me You don't know what I can do But let me show you
What Do You See?
Look at me What do you see? One in a wave of meaningless faces Or a young girl just floating through life
Don't Hurt Me
You hurt me. All that is left are past scars Memories of how you used me
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
It Was Music
I felt every strum of the bass like a sledgehammer to my heart, and still could not bring myself to stop listening
Each chord resonated within my flesh
With each new harmony came a fresh flood of tears
Their voices made my heart ache and all I could do was close my eyes and suffer in my own silence.
It hurt; every bit.
Then the song would end.
Another would start.
And the process would begin again.
It was beautiful.
It was tragic.
It was music.