To be a true artist Must they be recluses Crazy mad or sick Or even better dead Show me a healthy artist
Why can’t I choose to be somewhere in the middle? Surrounded by extremes Measure everything With a grain of salt
Clinical smells Polite strangers The only thing worse Than being here Is to not be able
I know it’s for the best But it still hurts Hearing mothers complain For what I would give anything fo… My husband says no
I don’t expect Diabetes education For the public But chances are You know one
Hillary’s beautiful Rose Bumpy’s favorite princess My mini-me, my little lion Cute button nose Framed by red hair
Have you ever felt A hole inside of you Something dead inside Where your heart Is supposed to be?
Antes lograba tanto Metía horas Sacando lo máximo De cada minuto No he cambiado
I enjoy his company Riding shotgun Conversation No one to overhear Our inside jokes
My poems are short Written at night In my head I wake at dawn Shake my memory
Ask any female Love Is in the details I love you Three greatest words
She is no longer Part of my life I’ve moved on My life is full With friends
Some I like to share Fresh out of the oven Don’t let it get cold That’s why I wrote it Emotions in that moment
The passive-aggressive Guilt trip Is a weak tool For your purpose The sensitive
Would I rather be A younger me? More productive Stronger Would i have to give up
