Dreams become actions impossible becomes possible it’s what I love to do becoming focused on my goals reaching those limits passing the bar once I get a new idea I go with it I don’t give up I would like to change the world if everyone was passionate there would be no failures
It was a scorchingly hot summer day in June when I walked up toward the house from the barn, heading toward the old cedar tree near the house. The tree had bird feeders hanging on it, and probably I was going to check the feeders to see how much seed they had in them.
Breathing in. The lungs expand, chest tight. The air catches in my throat. Breathing out. The air slithers out, my eyes going, facing the paper. It is blank, void of anything but a red line and blue lines. My mind is already at work. What is it going to be?
The girl with the sunset eyes and the boy with hands like glass.
He fell in love with her because she was so beautiful when she cried.
He hated to see her in tears, but when she cried, streaks of blue and orange and yellow and pink fell down her cheeks.
On sad days, his eyes tell me stories – stories of pain, of struggle, of truth. They hold within them soft, grey clouds after April afternoon storms.
But the sky is bright without the sun, because it is never truly gone.
My record player- The warm sound of “Ultraviolence” circling through my room like nothing I’ve ever heard before. Connected with the music.
You look at me and you soon know my entire story, a story of sadness turned into bliss but only because of you- connected
Some of my hobbies include: writing and baking and looking into your brown eyes until I fear that I just might lose myself inside of them. A few of my favorite activities are: drawing and sewing and watching your chest rise and fall as if you are an ocean creating tidal waves inside my mind. My i
It burns It burns deep inside every drop that runs down
your back as you ignore the pain correction after correction being told you aren’t good enough for it
it comes naturally is what they say at least why? some outsider may ask Why the time and pain
I'm not sure if the glass is half empty or half full. Coffee shops leave me homesick for 8 minute drives to your cul-de-sac, to your arms; you're always busy. And although refills and ring stains hold a pointer finger to pursed lips, I can't convince myself the same when I tell you not to worry
Twirling Twirling-Twirling Along with the shhing of the pointe shoe on the stage The smooth, sweet music playing to her sharp moves.
Spinning like a little girl in the rain Making it look so easy, but yet so hard The precise frappe out of the spin Like a prancing reindeer in the snow.
A thought may amble a bit ‘till it trips to a halt, ‘till it ticks up a halt and a half. Slams to a door and whatever blue-black residue flirts with the hinges, flirts with the hinges: A hiccup frame for the ghost words you never said because you slammed its door. Naked if
The sky was an abyss of gloom, As the trees billowed in the breath of the wind. The stars sang secrets to the moon, Above a castle holding lovers within. An age-old monarch was outraged by his daughter’s betrayal, For he had found a young thief attracted by her alluring portrayal.
It is a wall. It is stiff, blank. Unmoving. It guards the paradise That she knows belongs there.
It is a stone Waiting for her, the sculptor, To make it mean something.
Sometimes it glows with urgency. Other times it is dull, Craving the contact of a human hand.
The insistent decision that The world is beyond repair because No longer will Human nature fix these things. Negativity and pessimism Invade the land of Enthusiasm and assurance. The problems remain Because People make choices, Will remain idyll, And negative changes Grow into new dynamics Our wo