Thursday, December 16, 2010
Unsent Note to A Random Person...
****************************YOU are not as good as you think you are. You are extremely average, insecure and troubled; just like the rest of us. And I cannot attempt to help you help yourself without you acknowledging this. ***
And Yes, There Was A Day 3 of Mental Health Day...should have declared it a Mental Health Week...
9-9-2010
Day 3 of "FUCK".
Simply put, that's it; "FUCK".
Tired of being broke, tired of not sleeping, tired of feeling worthless, of not having someone to balance me out; help to motivate me.
And I need a cigarette.
Oh, wah. Listen to me. Passing shit off onto other folks.
Jesus, what is going on here? I feel so unbalanced -
in life,
In everyday.
In the brain.
Fuck.
Copyright K. Anne Smith
Day 3 of "FUCK".
Simply put, that's it; "FUCK".
Tired of being broke, tired of not sleeping, tired of feeling worthless, of not having someone to balance me out; help to motivate me.
And I need a cigarette.
Oh, wah. Listen to me. Passing shit off onto other folks.
Jesus, what is going on here? I feel so unbalanced -
in life,
In everyday.
In the brain.
Fuck.
Copyright K. Anne Smith
A DAy Late, and A dollar (or more) short.
A DAy Late, and A dollar (or more) short...
I've declared today as my own personal "Mental Health Day".
I remember dog-eared pages in a book;
sent to me by a person that
I have never met
(in person)
Maybe my fate will be the same.
I'll get famous when I am dead.
It happens to the best, that way....
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
BUKOWSKI
Had his own way of putting things
into senseless, yet priceless lines.
The sky draws in a deeper, darker color of blue, white, tinged with red.
Like a suction canister of body fluids, from an operating room.
Tinged with blood.
Breeze, like breath, and the colors move into deeper shades; closing in on us like a fist. When the fist closes, it smashes down and makes thousands and thousands of pieces of glowing shrapnel that we call stars...
And at that time, when it comes - I hope it brings a sense of calm -
and silence -
and nothing else.
_______________________________________________________________________________
Mental Health Day Notes, cont.
I've sat in this spot
most of the day
And I think
how amazing
that someone, somewhere, was doing what I have done all day
But made something out of nothing
And I've got nothing to show for it.
Copyright K. Anne Smith
I've declared today as my own personal "Mental Health Day".
I remember dog-eared pages in a book;
sent to me by a person that
I have never met
(in person)
Maybe my fate will be the same.
I'll get famous when I am dead.
It happens to the best, that way....
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
BUKOWSKI
Had his own way of putting things
into senseless, yet priceless lines.
The sky draws in a deeper, darker color of blue, white, tinged with red.
Like a suction canister of body fluids, from an operating room.
Tinged with blood.
Breeze, like breath, and the colors move into deeper shades; closing in on us like a fist. When the fist closes, it smashes down and makes thousands and thousands of pieces of glowing shrapnel that we call stars...
And at that time, when it comes - I hope it brings a sense of calm -
and silence -
and nothing else.
_______________________________________________________________________________
Mental Health Day Notes, cont.
I've sat in this spot
most of the day
And I think
how amazing
that someone, somewhere, was doing what I have done all day
But made something out of nothing
And I've got nothing to show for it.
Copyright K. Anne Smith
The Doh-See-Doh swing...
Two Step;
side step
You're avoiding Life (and my eyes)
So I think it's good
That I Leave for awhile
So I can turn up the music
and drive as I smile
And leave you to your misery
Don't understand why you
don't appreciate little things
The sun in the sky
The beauty of ugly
and birds when they sing
Copyright K. Anne Smith
side step
You're avoiding Life (and my eyes)
So I think it's good
That I Leave for awhile
So I can turn up the music
and drive as I smile
And leave you to your misery
Don't understand why you
don't appreciate little things
The sun in the sky
The beauty of ugly
and birds when they sing
Copyright K. Anne Smith
You BEST Remember, Lord - You Can't Break My Broken Wings...
Sometime in the A.M. on May 15, 2010:
Hold my breath in deeply
And the stabbing pain of my existence
Hits me
This house, is no longer my home
It is an asylum for tainted memories
Every hole in a wall
Is a different memory
A fading glimpse
Of the way life used to be
This house isn’t holy
This house
Is only a memory
Mama struggling
Battling my demons
Bound by some chains
I wish to break free from
These possessions are all I have
Nothing to show
This disappointment, is just that
These things , they mean nothing
And I don’t know what to do
Don’t know where to go
I am never happy in this home
Something to escape
Insanity has given me a taste
Left with nothing but ‘things’
Remember Lord,
You can’t break these broken wings
Nestled comfortably inside my hell,
My cage; unlocked -
These demons to quell.
Nothing to tell
I have nothing to say
I only think when I write
And want the rest to go away.
Years of being trapped
Years of being dependent
Mama’s on the brink now,
Think I’ll always be co-dependent
This place is a wreck,
Very much like my HeAd
Push and push things away
But they remain; they stay
This place is no longer my home
Now it’s time to make a move -
To drag all this along.
So worrisome, so consumed
No relief from this mess
No more pills, only booze
And I fall into a category 4 hurricane
Have these thoughts that I keep inside
Made me more insane?
Wasting my time with words and paper
Wondering if my kids will understand
Why I can’t make the bankroll
Copyright K. Anne Smith
Praying for Rain (1,000 miles deep)
JUNE 5, 2010...
Early in the A.M.
Strange silences fill weird gaps, and thunder rumbles overhead. The sound of persistent rain taps and pours and my soul is open, again.
Drowning out thoughts
As they spill all over this page
As I sit, I squirm
Because there are 3 thousand thoughts
Within the brain
The feeling of being desperately overwhelmed
Is subsiding
And I’ve put all my energy
Into wanting and trying
To make you feel happy
I’ve needed this rain
To wash away the old memory
To rinse away the residue
To water new seeds
To start again
I’d love to steal you away
And leave your worries and your pain
Outside to be cleaned in the pouring rain
Lead a path to a place
You’d find perfect
Strip away all the hurt
To find the beauty you hide inside
And leave myself open and
Let you consume me…
Copyright K. Anne Smith
Early in the A.M.
Strange silences fill weird gaps, and thunder rumbles overhead. The sound of persistent rain taps and pours and my soul is open, again.
Drowning out thoughts
As they spill all over this page
As I sit, I squirm
Because there are 3 thousand thoughts
Within the brain
The feeling of being desperately overwhelmed
Is subsiding
And I’ve put all my energy
Into wanting and trying
To make you feel happy
I’ve needed this rain
To wash away the old memory
To rinse away the residue
To water new seeds
To start again
I’d love to steal you away
And leave your worries and your pain
Outside to be cleaned in the pouring rain
Lead a path to a place
You’d find perfect
Strip away all the hurt
To find the beauty you hide inside
And leave myself open and
Let you consume me…
Copyright K. Anne Smith
ApRiL brought Madness...
April 16, 2010
Why don’t you just
Hold me
Keep me
Don’t hate me
Even if it’s
Not easy
Call me your beauty
OR deem me your beast
It don’t hurt too much,
Not to say the least
I’ll swing through and
We’ll doh-see-doh
And when I leave-
No one will find peace
So don’t follow
That would leave you hollow
Don’t strain your eyes
To see what I mean
If it’s anything -
It’s an all-night thing
A two-step, moving through the night sky
Riding on a magic carpet
I smoke rare leaf on this ride
==============================================================================
APRIL 15, 2010
9:44 p.m.
Thinking of doors. The band. And actual doors - ones that close in your face (Thanks, Dad) and ones that open to opportunity and also…
The ones that open to a big
Pile
Of
SHIT.
(A pessimistic day, indeed).
-end-
-TUESDAY APRIL 13, 2010
2138 HRS. (9:38 P.M.)
It is nightfall and the routine of madness has ended. The kids are in bed, finally. Tears were falling from my blond haired blue eyed daughters eyes…
She, is genuine.
And, she is worried for someone that cares for very deeply..
My children; I see so many things in them and it is ONLY then when I am able to understand what it means to love, unconditionally. I know how it feels to create such a powerful, hard-wired-thing. These little adults - more humane than most humans. The children of this world are where we should be betting EVERYTHING on…
But most will just pass them off as merely ‘only a child.”.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Exhaling smoke as I furiouslY scribble this random pattern of thinking…
I stare above, into the black of the night sky.
I’m glad that there are sTaRs that are visible to my eye tonight. My eyes follow their patterns; their invisible lines that they draw in that vast, outstretched night sky.
My shadow grows longer as I stand, but I notice
That it seems to be larger
Than it should.
As if
It were almost…
Growing.
“Really?? Hmm, it seems to me that my ego has grown.”
It exceeds me, the shadow, that is.
Then, I think to myself that Perhaps -that is not only my shadow.
Maybe it’s the boogeyman that lurks behind me; follows me everywhere. Doesn’t let me sleep. Makes me annoyed -
and-
Is the very fiber
Of my existence.
These beings are around me everywhere. I see them, amongst the mess in my basement; in the toy pile. Over my shoulder. Right in my face. Waiting, in the chair; in the corner of m y mind.
I’m either just beginning to imagine - or maybe I am merely subconsciously {more like unconsciously} following suite with the ’typical stereotype’ of a writer.
Awake through most of the evening hours,
Drinking or smoking .
Always smoking though, with or without the presence of alcohol.
A cigarette dangling from either my hand or my lip as I scrawl in a notebook or hover over a keyboard, tapping away at the keys. Or bury my face in the pages of a book, or even, sometimes, several books at one time - at times.
Copyright K. Anne Smith
Why don’t you just
Hold me
Keep me
Don’t hate me
Even if it’s
Not easy
Call me your beauty
OR deem me your beast
It don’t hurt too much,
Not to say the least
I’ll swing through and
We’ll doh-see-doh
And when I leave-
No one will find peace
So don’t follow
That would leave you hollow
Don’t strain your eyes
To see what I mean
If it’s anything -
It’s an all-night thing
A two-step, moving through the night sky
Riding on a magic carpet
I smoke rare leaf on this ride
==============================================================================
APRIL 15, 2010
9:44 p.m.
Thinking of doors. The band. And actual doors - ones that close in your face (Thanks, Dad) and ones that open to opportunity and also…
The ones that open to a big
Pile
Of
SHIT.
(A pessimistic day, indeed).
-end-
-TUESDAY APRIL 13, 2010
2138 HRS. (9:38 P.M.)
It is nightfall and the routine of madness has ended. The kids are in bed, finally. Tears were falling from my blond haired blue eyed daughters eyes…
She, is genuine.
And, she is worried for someone that cares for very deeply..
My children; I see so many things in them and it is ONLY then when I am able to understand what it means to love, unconditionally. I know how it feels to create such a powerful, hard-wired-thing. These little adults - more humane than most humans. The children of this world are where we should be betting EVERYTHING on…
But most will just pass them off as merely ‘only a child.”.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Exhaling smoke as I furiouslY scribble this random pattern of thinking…
I stare above, into the black of the night sky.
I’m glad that there are sTaRs that are visible to my eye tonight. My eyes follow their patterns; their invisible lines that they draw in that vast, outstretched night sky.
My shadow grows longer as I stand, but I notice
That it seems to be larger
Than it should.
As if
It were almost…
Growing.
“Really?? Hmm, it seems to me that my ego has grown.”
It exceeds me, the shadow, that is.
Then, I think to myself that Perhaps -that is not only my shadow.
Maybe it’s the boogeyman that lurks behind me; follows me everywhere. Doesn’t let me sleep. Makes me annoyed -
and-
Is the very fiber
Of my existence.
These beings are around me everywhere. I see them, amongst the mess in my basement; in the toy pile. Over my shoulder. Right in my face. Waiting, in the chair; in the corner of m y mind.
I’m either just beginning to imagine - or maybe I am merely subconsciously {more like unconsciously} following suite with the ’typical stereotype’ of a writer.
Awake through most of the evening hours,
Drinking or smoking .
Always smoking though, with or without the presence of alcohol.
A cigarette dangling from either my hand or my lip as I scrawl in a notebook or hover over a keyboard, tapping away at the keys. Or bury my face in the pages of a book, or even, sometimes, several books at one time - at times.
Copyright K. Anne Smith
Desperate Times, Always call for Desperate Measures...and Alcohol.
=================================================================================
April 4, 2010
Sometime in the afternoon…
Sitting amongst the trees, opening blooms to the wind;
A blue sky outstretched overhead
And consuming everything under it’s cloak.
I am smaller
than I was yesterday.
A speck, on the back porch steps. Small in comparison. My flesh tones, camouflaged in contrast to the massive tones of earth and sky around me.
I am here, merely as an existence. It is up to my conscious thinking- what it is that I give of myself - that decides what my existence will serve. I may as well allow my existence to serve ME with opportunity, with a chance to learn, a chance to embrace, An opportunity to make choices. I choose, to coexist. I am not any greater or any lesser than those elements that surround me.
Simplicity is fine, in it’s finest form. Deviation leads to complication.
Normalcy is molded; a concept; not a factor. A consequence, not inevitability.
=============================================
***Words stretch out across this page, they pour from a reservoir of inner thought - although I don’t think it to be
My sanctuary. Not nearly.
Sanctity is questionable.
Solitude is often. Loneliness can consume your soul, even when you are surrounded by love and people and things which you hold love for.
Something tears a ribbon of trust away from the box inside that stays locked. It’s as though some shavings remain under the lock pad, as if someone attempted to break in, but couldn’t endure the work.
So they walk away, leaving a partial footprint and a mess to clean up. In every sense of those words - is what happens. When a void opens, something has to fill it. The contents are always different - it depends on the person.
Different pains for all f us. Different vices; various poisons to numb the pain of having that gaping hole.
Maybe it’s food, maybe it’s drugs. Gambling. Senseless, emotionless gratification. All the while, still leaving the hole;
Still
Abandoning hope
And still feeling the need
For More
Or Less.
Or nothing.
Maybe anesthetic will make it disappear
At least
From your constant waves of thought.
Envisioning a person; on a dark beach
Waves crashing and threatening to swallow this person whole
And give their soul
To the ocean.
Standing, facing forward this person’s hands are full with their own entrails.
Guts and :
Total disregard and helplessness…
Standing bleeding in the sand
Moments from dying
And fully liberated a
And accepting that the end
Is near. IT is over
No more pain
Or, at least-
We Pray.
--- Break in thoughts….---
IT seems that I have gained the company of peculiar, menacing little people.
They are without features, but they are definitely there, watching with hollow eyes. They live amongst the crevices and containers in my basement, they wait until I am alone, and only then do they make themselves known. They sit and wait to catch me off my guard. These things, once very unnerving to my mental well-being, I now welcome, because at least they entertain my mind. And they keep me good company, in the times when I need the company the most -
Most of the time-
The most desperate of times -
(All the time).
=====================================================================
Copyright K. Anne Smith
April 4, 2010
Sometime in the afternoon…
Sitting amongst the trees, opening blooms to the wind;
A blue sky outstretched overhead
And consuming everything under it’s cloak.
I am smaller
than I was yesterday.
A speck, on the back porch steps. Small in comparison. My flesh tones, camouflaged in contrast to the massive tones of earth and sky around me.
I am here, merely as an existence. It is up to my conscious thinking- what it is that I give of myself - that decides what my existence will serve. I may as well allow my existence to serve ME with opportunity, with a chance to learn, a chance to embrace, An opportunity to make choices. I choose, to coexist. I am not any greater or any lesser than those elements that surround me.
Simplicity is fine, in it’s finest form. Deviation leads to complication.
Normalcy is molded; a concept; not a factor. A consequence, not inevitability.
=============================================
***Words stretch out across this page, they pour from a reservoir of inner thought - although I don’t think it to be
My sanctuary. Not nearly.
Sanctity is questionable.
Solitude is often. Loneliness can consume your soul, even when you are surrounded by love and people and things which you hold love for.
Something tears a ribbon of trust away from the box inside that stays locked. It’s as though some shavings remain under the lock pad, as if someone attempted to break in, but couldn’t endure the work.
So they walk away, leaving a partial footprint and a mess to clean up. In every sense of those words - is what happens. When a void opens, something has to fill it. The contents are always different - it depends on the person.
Different pains for all f us. Different vices; various poisons to numb the pain of having that gaping hole.
Maybe it’s food, maybe it’s drugs. Gambling. Senseless, emotionless gratification. All the while, still leaving the hole;
Still
Abandoning hope
And still feeling the need
For More
Or Less.
Or nothing.
Maybe anesthetic will make it disappear
At least
From your constant waves of thought.
Envisioning a person; on a dark beach
Waves crashing and threatening to swallow this person whole
And give their soul
To the ocean.
Standing, facing forward this person’s hands are full with their own entrails.
Guts and :
Total disregard and helplessness…
Standing bleeding in the sand
Moments from dying
And fully liberated a
And accepting that the end
Is near. IT is over
No more pain
Or, at least-
We Pray.
--- Break in thoughts….---
IT seems that I have gained the company of peculiar, menacing little people.
They are without features, but they are definitely there, watching with hollow eyes. They live amongst the crevices and containers in my basement, they wait until I am alone, and only then do they make themselves known. They sit and wait to catch me off my guard. These things, once very unnerving to my mental well-being, I now welcome, because at least they entertain my mind. And they keep me good company, in the times when I need the company the most -
Most of the time-
The most desperate of times -
(All the time).
=====================================================================
Copyright K. Anne Smith
All that is left...
APRIL 9, 2010
1219 a.m.
Feeling like feelings are numb
Cut at the bone;
Choking on my home
Walls don’t surround me now
Only my one guarded wall
Will protect us now
I force myself outside, to be able to see in…
There’s no fear
Only blood and bullets;
There is you
And I
And
Blood and bullets.
Leaning shadows;
Mine and another
Find ourselves
Face to Faceless…
Copyright K. Anne Smith
1219 a.m.
Feeling like feelings are numb
Cut at the bone;
Choking on my home
Walls don’t surround me now
Only my one guarded wall
Will protect us now
I force myself outside, to be able to see in…
There’s no fear
Only blood and bullets;
There is you
And I
And
Blood and bullets.
Leaning shadows;
Mine and another
Find ourselves
Face to Faceless…
Copyright K. Anne Smith
Mother Earth; One Pissed Off Lady.
March 22, 2010
11:14 p.m.
Wondering who will survive what is lying ahead, further up the road.
A small, surprise package of catastrophe waiting for the right sucker to come along and open this; Pandora’s Box. How quiet the nights will be when there is no one left to hear?
Or will there ever be night on this planet that we somehow strangely invaded - pillaged, violated the sacredness of the land in tearing away beautiful pastures in trade for Wal-Marts and Targets, restaurants and housing ‘projects’ (heh heh). We have become accustomed to the convenience of having everything at our fingertips.
There ARE few that can still honor and appreciate this land that we have somehow come to occupy.
There is little respect for this worldwide mother - her name is Earth. Perhaps it is now time for her to exact her revenge.
Maybe -
All the hype over politics and an impending doom that lingers over us to serve as masques.
OR maybe -
Nobody really, honestly, truthfully knows what we are bound to embrace.
Hold your family tight and have them all help in digging a hole that goes way beyond the standard of six feet.
You’ll all need it and you will all need one another.
“Prepare.”
One word.
Two syllables.
A third, and final warning.
The fourth horseman appears on the horizon. Behind him, the other three stand poised and ready.
Are YOU ready?
-fin-
Copyright K. Anne Smith
11:14 p.m.
Wondering who will survive what is lying ahead, further up the road.
A small, surprise package of catastrophe waiting for the right sucker to come along and open this; Pandora’s Box. How quiet the nights will be when there is no one left to hear?
Or will there ever be night on this planet that we somehow strangely invaded - pillaged, violated the sacredness of the land in tearing away beautiful pastures in trade for Wal-Marts and Targets, restaurants and housing ‘projects’ (heh heh). We have become accustomed to the convenience of having everything at our fingertips.
There ARE few that can still honor and appreciate this land that we have somehow come to occupy.
There is little respect for this worldwide mother - her name is Earth. Perhaps it is now time for her to exact her revenge.
Maybe -
All the hype over politics and an impending doom that lingers over us to serve as masques.
OR maybe -
Nobody really, honestly, truthfully knows what we are bound to embrace.
Hold your family tight and have them all help in digging a hole that goes way beyond the standard of six feet.
You’ll all need it and you will all need one another.
“Prepare.”
One word.
Two syllables.
A third, and final warning.
The fourth horseman appears on the horizon. Behind him, the other three stand poised and ready.
Are YOU ready?
-fin-
Copyright K. Anne Smith
A turntable spins…
The broken record plays…
That damned man, in the chair
In the corner of my mind…
“Fail.” he says.
Maybe, just perhaps -
Something is blinding my eyes from seeing clearly.
Not sure if my thinking is clear
Or rational
Or selfless
Or self-centered
When I offer myself,
My actions, my hospitality
My Love
My help
I expect it to please someone
And maybe it does….or not.
This is all that’s left.
Words and thoughts….
Copyright K. Anne Smith
Buy the ticket....(take the ride)
7-13-10
Falling faster from grace
Pillows and sweat and regret
Covering your face
Salt the wound; dig the knife deeper
Intent on destruction
Feeling worse
As time passes
3 day sleeper
The boat has rocked
Best has passed
Now is the only time
To stop
This is the destination
Hope you have your ticket
You’ll need it again
To reboard this ride
Isolation and despair
I can’t fix it (I guess)
Only wanting to help
I suppose I can’t
I suppose I have to
Shut the door
And leave off the light
All I know is
This is not life
Not the way it was meant
Helpless now ( I feel so)
Copyright K. Anne Smith
Falling faster from grace
Pillows and sweat and regret
Covering your face
Salt the wound; dig the knife deeper
Intent on destruction
Feeling worse
As time passes
3 day sleeper
The boat has rocked
Best has passed
Now is the only time
To stop
This is the destination
Hope you have your ticket
You’ll need it again
To reboard this ride
Isolation and despair
I can’t fix it (I guess)
Only wanting to help
I suppose I can’t
I suppose I have to
Shut the door
And leave off the light
All I know is
This is not life
Not the way it was meant
Helpless now ( I feel so)
Copyright K. Anne Smith
Why I do this...
WRITE WHEN:
you’re right
When you’re wrong
When you can’t scream
And it’s not appropriate to do
Much of anything
WRITE WHEN: You want to share
Or you want it all
To yourself
When you want to sing
But don’t have the words to do so
WRITE WHEN: You’re burdened
Or restless
Or hopeless
Or ecstatic
Or you think you’ve nothing to say
When you feel like running away
When you’re vocal opinion
Doesn’t matter….
And the words don’t form, except for with a pen
(your only friend)
WRITE WHEN: You’ve lost your patience
But aren’t ready to tell anyone
Just write
WHEN you’ve been pushed -
Choose your battles
And release your energy
Through Ink
WRITE WHEN you get broken
And don’t feel good enough
Forget it and pen it
Fuck it; let it fly
My spirit, with ink
Is always free
And I feel good about the soul I’ve become
Even though I’m not always at Peace
(especially when I see someone else in such misery)
WRITE WHEN: You can’t admit outloud
That someone else was right
And now, you understand why
Try to forget it
But you just can’t let it
And even though you no longer speak -
You remember why she said goodbye….
And it’s haunting
And everything makes you think of the things she’s said
You try
To be the bigger person
But only end up wanting
Peace for your head
And you realize your own observations
And they seem to scare you now
And you sort of want time to turn back
And to change
Something
From myself
And this, is why I tend to write
Because I quit speaking!!!!!
-IT, for now! -
Copyright K. Anne Smith
you’re right
When you’re wrong
When you can’t scream
And it’s not appropriate to do
Much of anything
WRITE WHEN: You want to share
Or you want it all
To yourself
When you want to sing
But don’t have the words to do so
WRITE WHEN: You’re burdened
Or restless
Or hopeless
Or ecstatic
Or you think you’ve nothing to say
When you feel like running away
When you’re vocal opinion
Doesn’t matter….
And the words don’t form, except for with a pen
(your only friend)
WRITE WHEN: You’ve lost your patience
But aren’t ready to tell anyone
Just write
WHEN you’ve been pushed -
Choose your battles
And release your energy
Through Ink
WRITE WHEN you get broken
And don’t feel good enough
Forget it and pen it
Fuck it; let it fly
My spirit, with ink
Is always free
And I feel good about the soul I’ve become
Even though I’m not always at Peace
(especially when I see someone else in such misery)
WRITE WHEN: You can’t admit outloud
That someone else was right
And now, you understand why
Try to forget it
But you just can’t let it
And even though you no longer speak -
You remember why she said goodbye….
And it’s haunting
And everything makes you think of the things she’s said
You try
To be the bigger person
But only end up wanting
Peace for your head
And you realize your own observations
And they seem to scare you now
And you sort of want time to turn back
And to change
Something
From myself
And this, is why I tend to write
Because I quit speaking!!!!!
-IT, for now! -
Copyright K. Anne Smith
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