I googled myself. Okey I know - the epiphany of self-love.I must say I was quite surprised to actually find myself. I am on the world wide web.
Strange though. I mean it is strange what people will see when they look at it. This screen supposedly describing me. Its flat. It's just words and a picture. No matter how technology advances it will never be able to capture who we really are.
Bowled me over - did this pharaoh's wind
I ran within, in hand with mist.
I seek your eyes- those lips I've kissed.
Thorns of truth grow here abound
A naked earth, boundaries rule within.
Sun scorched soul- drenched in sin.
They call you hope, I call you foul
A dreamers desert tool the thoughts I had,
Now swept and smothered - crushed beneath a grain of sand.
Motionless I stand here still
My feet so raw, my legs but clay
Lost it here, yet I'm still here - till this day
Waiting I guess, for that angel of mine
All, yes all of me, I heard them say
Every tortured soul has the power to call it's judgement day
Why do I feel so stupid when I write poetry? I use to love it as a child. I still do, but I somehow feel judged. Do all people perceive artists as weak, or is it just me?
Can I not be a writer because I'm scared of how I'll end up? In my mind there is an image of a shaken woman with wild eyes. A caged creature that cannot leave even though the door is open.
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