Poems

Words I’d like to call art.

Why?

why would disturbing someone else’s happiness would ever cross your mind?

no i would not be fazed by the haze you’ve created upon yourself

i would not conceal the faults of those who have wronged me

certainly will not be the objections of your projections

and i wont demolish my walls of faith for something temporarily safe

but i’m seeing you there hands all up in somebody’s face, and the calamity unwind

why would disturbing someone else’s happiness would ever cross your mind?

you move as fast as time

dear, you’re so fucking perfect how come i’m

not feeling more?

taking up everyone’s mic time for some more

more more more

more spotlight even if its just a glimmer, more attention even if it means just a silly little slap

its almost like you’ve lost your map

perhaps trailing down my memory lane

surely you’d get your mane sometime else and somewhere else

hope this doesn’t make you insecure

but look at the crowed and i beg you to acknowledge that they’re bored

as your leaves would be blown out by the wind

and water comes to shore

why would disturbing someone else’s happiness would ever cross your mind?

I don’t like calling my art poems though much might say so, I never think that my silly little writings are ever good enough to be called “art” I always thought that, that would make actual poets felt invalidated. But if art is whatever the artist thinks is, then I’d like to think that this is art.

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