Poetry lives in me
the way paint stains an
artist's calloused fingers.
It lives in words like
the chosen colors that
make up a masterpiece.
It is loved with a dedication
to stay up until the
world dies to the moon.
It is restless like the
moments of bated breath,
waiting for a call of acceptance.
Poetry lives in me,
allowing me to grasp hearts
desperate for something to feel.
YOU ARE READING
Little Nothings
Poetry***STUNNING COVER by @Repulsify, as commissioned through @InkCommunity 's Artlink Station!*** Things speak to us in different ways. For some, it's a small voice in our minds. For others, it's the things around us, weaving words into succession for s...
