Scary, Is Writing - Poem by Dylan Rivera
Suffocated by these notions of thought.
Seeking unchained hands,
it abandons all ransom inquiries.
Controls my being and walks towards facile skies.
Sunsets of grey, clears any haziness of yellow
that only care to belong.
Because there isn't any room for daisy like colors.
I document my existence and these tangents imprint their tattoos.
Censoring is always prevalent.
For you never know if Mary is watching.
So pure, and fictional,
my thoughts look to emulate her.
But so harsh and actual,
my thoughts are nothing like her.
Comments about Scary, Is Writing by Dylan Rivera
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye