My pen moves swiftly; poetry in motion. Capturing the essence of the soul of me, voiding the notion, that the artist in me has died. She is strong and revived. Remembering a dream. Remembering all that she knew and hoped for; all that she promised to obtain. She knows truth. She has overcome adversity and stepped out unscathed. She is.... she is becoming whom she is destined to be
Dear Melancholy, Why do you love me so much? It seems there isn’t a single part of my life, that you have not touched I don’t want you here, yet still you linger You’ve been a constant companion For as long as I can remember....