She loved to write her story,
more than she could speak,
it was as if looking up,
meant to look down,
but capturing the pieces,
that loved her artistic imagination,
but only the loudness of her,
stories grew quite so full,
as if she was wrapped up,
in the moon,
but speaking so quietly,
loved her definition of life,
to where she couldn't keep her feelings inside anymore,
because all she wanted to do,
was write,
but hiding in a fixated,
world only clouded her,
dreams,
that was until she,
met someone who,
could fill in the blanks,
of her story,
that she didn't,
want to miss.
YOU ARE READING
Upside Down Roses, Upside Down Heart
PoetryLooking up seeing the stars, But where is me, Is it all in my head? Or is in my heart? Where the roses love me as well as my life, But to me the heart is more than just the upside down of the skylight.
