Barely able to breathe; Questions that couldn't be answered by mankind. Standing on cracked concrete. Hoping for a breeze to dry the sweat on my face. I pray; if I can't trust this world, and it's population of confusion, I'll trust someone else. I whisper to God to calm my soul. Hum a praise, bow my head. Sway, and hope for a tomorrow.
A friend once told me that random thoughts make the best poetry. Sometimes I "free write" and then come back to it and piece it together until it makes a poem. How wonderful that we always have SOMETHING--always.
I enjoy the hook at the end. The main body is like a prose sonnet, if such a thing could be. A problem, a resolution, but the ending really conveys the sense of loneliness while maintaining strength.
And while your head is spinning
Hold tight, it's just beginning
- The Decemberists
I'm fifteen, from a small town.
I never know what to write
in these About Me's, so let me
fly with these f.. more..