When I breathe I inhale intelligence and exhale the ignorance
People try to judge me but they know nothing they so ignorant
C what I am is a beautiful bliss
I can sculpt a masterpiece with just a flick of my wrist
It’s almost effortless but never heartless
Because only from the heart can poetry even exist
And every time I put my heart in a poem I take a risk
Of being misinterpreted lik the speech from a foreigners lips
If they don’t get me so be it
But if they would just open up their eyes they’d c it
Because this is art my paper is the canvas and with these words I am painting
My portraits r abnormal because my thoughts r always racing
So my pen is always pacing back & forth side to side
Line 2 Line 2 Line 2 Line 2 Line 2 Line
Until I have expressed... everything that congest... my soul
I write to confess... my soul is then set free
This is my tranquility I’m so calm and so at peace
So when I speak I speak effortlessly
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Surely the title is a misnomer? But what happened to the 'g' in the second stanza. You are not often given to miss-spellings. Could there be an ulterior meaning that I have missed? Read mine – Reparation – Adeline