Words of Ink and Tears

I remember a time where words flowed from my fingers like the floods from rivers and waterfalls
They seem to have missed when they'd cross my inspiration and I'd join them together to make a universal bond
Pulses spread all over my body , to each organ a heart of its own and to each word a beat
This typing process does not appeal to me or them
They would want you to see how my feather draws the lines and turns of their characters
My childhood is a matter of walls I used to fill with ink and colors
Each wall of my room was a chapter and pages carried within them the thoughts of an unusual girl
Landscapes of scattered words , they were my shelter
My bed was the rock I'd climb on to reach my sky
A time where nothing made sense except a world that is not seen through her people's acts
Her diaries were her advocates , they were the provider of her rights
Her anger has known papers , and the ink did long for the tears to mingle
The walls were painted blank and the sheets were torn and ripped to bits
The ink dried out and so did the tears..
All has vanished , I remain with the girl within the layers of my memories.

Conversations with Time

I thought I knew the meaning of most things
until last month happened
all past complaints seemed like a desired wish to regain
all worries in the world faded, life didn't matter any more
not because I do not see its value ; Life is proving itself
though time goes on and takes one along
I stopped at a certain point but could not watch Time pass by
It lingered around me and became a visionary , showing me
- through my eyes - the eyes that I can no longer find my peace within
I never thought I'd see the day where all tasteful matters become poisonous
what's painfully fascinating is how the wall cracked from all angles
and I became a stranger to what I thought I knew as my self.
I became a day-dreamer , not the kind that I used to be
Nocturnal I was , until the night became judgmental
Feelings grew beyond me , and the soul and the mind sealed a conspiracy
I don't know what's right from wrong
because what was right is wrongfully gone.



~* Very scared of the coming , because we do fear the unknown.. holding on to a 'make-believe' comforting thought is not so comforting after all. What will become of us , We can't even think right to know *~

That first step.

I honestly don't know what to talk about , when I have a full universe to tell
Some of the best things have already been said , and some could not possibly be said..

I do have a story to share , I have only merely spilled parts here and there so far - but what's the point?

That'll not do it any justice , I was once told to write whatever comes to mind , and mine is eager to let out what the heart and soul have tasted , I have tasted loss , not the kind that one has never been through before but it's just that All losses cannot possibly come at once , because no matter what one would still have one's self. I don't. I believe any 'normal' human being is a non-diagnosed case , I am living mine , I do not seek identification or knowledge of the latter ; I find it interesting. It created for me this weird bubble that will soon become a window for you to open and drown in my own world of words and utterances.
My sadness is not the kind that calls for tears , it's one that makes you believe in a concept we are all familiar with yet fail to achieve to the utmost.."Change".
April's feather will draw Her poetry ~ Poetry that belongs to you.