Her heart is a broken compass,
it spins and stutters,
lost in a world of faded dreams
and empty promises.
But she walks on, directionless,
searching for her North Star,
hoping one day it will point her
to a place she can finally call home.
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Diary
I never learned the rules about meter or metaphor, or what not to say out loud. I just write what lives inside me: the bruises, the blossoms...
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Apologies to anyone here named Kevin. This one was directed at one Kevin in particular, not you. Dear Kevin, You are the dust and mildew pre...
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I remember your hand. How it moved like it had a right to anything it touched. You smiled, called it a game. And I was so young, I thought n...
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