I am..
I am..
sick but I am sane...
the ends n outs of a well secured braid...
contemplating..the art of letting go.....
I swear I see my poems as colors..
love is red...
I see a lot of red..
n roses n posies..
paintbrushes buried so deep...
n id love to paint a ceiling in words..
id use my tounge as the brush...
it would purify in the paint of my love...
n id gladly give my own ear to hear,,,
what I cannot say..
all\the things that make me real
lies\\lies all the things lies all lies lie me down to sleep
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem