Biography of Erica Smith
I am 22 and just figuring out that I am at the start of the end. I am trying to figure out my purpose in life. I had my daughter Paige who is now 5 when I was barely 17 and until recently didn't think of anything in the category of 'purpose' besides her. I am going to school for surgical technology for two reasons.1) Primarily because anatomy and physiology fascinate me and 2) Because its what society says your supposed to do and since I have no acceptable role models I am trying to piece together the remnants of morality and reason from our wicked, havoc-ridden, excuse for an American dream. Jaded yes, cynical perhaps, lost more than anything. I use my poetry as a positive tool to get somewhere in my sea of thoughts. Thanks for reading.
Erica Smith Poems
A Girl Named Samantha
I used to know a girl named Samantha She was a good friend of mine She made it seem as if I wasn't alone She gave my thoughts reason and rhyme
I want to be loved Caressed, kissed and hugged I want to feel safe and secure
All Grown Up
Torrents of sleeplessness rip through my veins Quests of purpose across grey matter Why? When? Who? infect my brain
My Inner Teenager Observes That World Wa...
My mind contemplates suicide Ignoring the urge to die I continue to live my lonely life Everyone seeing my face
Deepest Shade Of Mushroom Blue
Sometimes its like I slip away Into this place where everything is dark and cold Its only here where I can be alone with my thoughts All alone with what seems to be reality
(I wrote this poem in 2002 about my best friend who committed suicide in Dec 2005) I miss my soul mate
Do you know I think about you every day? When I look down at my wrists I feel again All the sadness I tried to cut away.
Writing is and isn't my peace Because I can't write fast enough Desire to pour it out on paper Look at it
Refreshed And Broken
Well ****; chalk it up to a case of star struck Not seeing with sight, not quite enough fight to make eyes right. What was hoped for hopefully abandoned by the savage that is ME... Apparently.
Writing is and isn't my peace
Because I can't write fast enough
Desire to pour it out on paper
Look at it
Taste it and digest it
Consuming my brain brings clarity
I'm not scared of me
It's my therapy
Cuz the shrinks can't eat what they see