Tell me all your thoughts about the
stars that fill the moon lit skies...
Used to be so happy
Never wore a frown...
locking myself in
for the second time felt like...
Back to ruin me
You lit the match, watched me burn...
Resist it.
Market coercion...
I keep going back
to that concrete gazebo by the river...
The saddest tears are the driest ones seen in the bravest smile. |
Don't tell one who writes of grief to rethink their "I" statements. When you know they had tears on their hands as they wrote, don't say the poem could be better. You might as well say their grief could be worse. |
If someone shares a poem with you that is meant to help close an open wound, they don't want your opinion. They want your hand on their shoulder, gripping it tight. |