Here’s a poem I wrote in 2022, in this composition book I had decorated with scrapbook paper. I’m still writing in that same book, I really need to fill it out. I haven’t really edited this poem that thoroughly, if you have any editing suggestions, I would love to hear them!
She writes with the pinkest of ink, that is also laced with white paint, filled with the highest layers of fairy tales and stuffed bears.
She twirls in the pinkest of dresses, sewn in threads of optimistic love, lighted by the airiest orchid clouds of white skies.
She’s the pinkest of them all— adorned in lace and ruffles, sick with kawaii and Disney. She looks out the window, and sees only peace, she goes out the door and shows only love.
Amid the sunrise,amid the flowers ornate,she sits on a wooden throne,laced with vines. She wears a dress of yellow moss,and a crown of black and clear iridescent stones.She softly smiles,as the sun bears witnessupon her golden face.She continues to gaze at the plants at her feet—those some people call weeds.There…
Decayed, ashen, dirty handsclimbs their way up the scraggly hillside.Broken branches tears and slicesat its decrepit skin.But it does not care,for it does not feel.For it is the wraith,undead. Above it towers a wrathful sky,about to release its vitriol.And below it lies a beach,with dirt tan sandand dark, hard stones.And…
