This poem is about desperately wanting to have a connection with someone and not having very high hopes about it.

I wrote this poem about my dislike of today's modern-day love and how romantic people are searching for something more real/serious. (We shouldn't drop our standards, for the sake of not being alone.)

This poem is kind of a sample of my writing. I wrote this based on how I felt after a breakup I went through and I hope you enjoy it.

Once you had me feeling whole A love so pure, I thought it would never fold But now I stand with tears that start A constant reminder of my broken heart

A poem I wrote when I passed another year of living life without my daughter here on earth.

what do I choose as my path

Do what you want in life for its too short

something that just came to my mind

Love or lost, you can either be loved or love someone, and you could be lost about many things, but it's only up to you to find yourself. Can't love anyone if you don't love yourself.

The human condition is a vast and intricate tapestry woven from the threads of joy and suffering, hope and despair.

A story so sad yet so beautiful

A Solitary Black Sock I. Quaraun bent down to touch the sand, His fingers brushed a curious thing, A black cloth, small and rather bland, Oddly shaped, like it could cling, A puzzle from some distant land. A mystery found, strange, strange, strange, What could it be, strange, strange, strange. II. BoomFuzzy peered with furrowed brow, The cloth was soft, yet oddly stiff, An ancient relic, they knew not how, Or why it had washed ashore this cliff, An item lost, but not for now. Lost to the sea, old, old, old, Ancient and dark, old, old, old. III. Quaraun pondered with deep suspicion, A magic tool, or cursed device? Perhaps it held a dark magician,

Would you like to go to lala land?

Random one for you guys. Comment your best interpretation.

Leave—

The sweet love that hurts.

Have you ever felt the urge to come clean?

I. Quaraun sat in his pink silk tent, Rain drummed softly, thunder low, His thoughts like smoke, serene ascent, Fur pelts beneath, a gentle glow, Peaceful in the storm's content. Soft the thunder, slow, slow, slow, BoomFuzzy breathed, slow, slow, slow. II. The hookah's tendrils curled in air, Calm and steady, each breath he drew, Echoes of dreams lingered there, Night's embrace, the world anew, Quaraun watched with tender care. BoomFuzzy slept in deep, deep peace, GhoulSpawn beside, deep, deep peace.

Cutting my hair off because my soul was bleeding for the green of the finest greenery sons.