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A Messy Poet
She writes and scribbles, but the words are bubbles,
Disappearing any moment, like gold in the rubbles.
River of phrases she can't understand like an idiom,
Rod lines too long, she already reached the bottom.
Where sun rays failed to touch any material,
Where current is too strong and air is vital.
She only gets the sentimental,
Because sadness stays the longest.
Her phrases are drowned to death,
And each words cutting deep.
Body's shaking when she tries to stand,
She can't go with the current.
She'd rather collect pebbles than her thoughts,
Because the amount is overwhelming .
Torn pages are like fishes on the floor,
Her cat waiting to catch and devour.
She's a messy poet.
She's messy but endearing,
Different thoughts keeps popping,
And when she tries to use her pen,
Words will start disappearing.
She knows what most of us is overthinking,
She's just as messy as anyone at 2 a.m. in the morning.
© akinom⚘️
Disappearing any moment, like gold in the rubbles.
River of phrases she can't understand like an idiom,
Rod lines too long, she already reached the bottom.
Where sun rays failed to touch any material,
Where current is too strong and air is vital.
She only gets the sentimental,
Because sadness stays the longest.
Her phrases are drowned to death,
And each words cutting deep.
Body's shaking when she tries to stand,
She can't go with the current.
She'd rather collect pebbles than her thoughts,
Because the amount is overwhelming .
Torn pages are like fishes on the floor,
Her cat waiting to catch and devour.
She's a messy poet.
She's messy but endearing,
Different thoughts keeps popping,
And when she tries to use her pen,
Words will start disappearing.
She knows what most of us is overthinking,
She's just as messy as anyone at 2 a.m. in the morning.
© akinom⚘️
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