An Author's Instinct

Writers write;

a mechanical response

to tragedy

or romance

or that special someone

you just can't stand


It's you and me

or someone else's

problem

when the world falls

and who doesn't cry at funerals?


Baby doll

Angel eyes

that time when ours

first met

or when I was

dreaming of death

when I

haven't even lived


A racing pulse

A Happy Winter

Love is and I'm not


Regretting that unsharpened edge

that served as my

utter demise

and my link

to reality


No one was the first to leave

so what's stopping you

now, dear?


She was screaming

He was laughing

to cover up

Little Brother

won't stand up

for himself

and I ignored

my best friend

only to be overlooked by

someone else


He acts as though

he owns the world

and he doesn't know a thing


Can someone take me

seriously enough

to realize that I'm not?

I don't even know

the things that I know

and I'm not

good enough

for you to see

So mark me as

a common idiot

and let's move on

with our lives


You'll dazzle the world

with your skill

She'll throw away her mind

for a boy

And I'll pretend to know

what's going on


Can't get past

a blurry canvas

The absurdity

has never been

more lucid


Writers write

and they told me

not to stop

So I wrote some words

I didn't feel

yet Daddy still cried anyway

Because


who doesn't cry at funerals?

- Broken Petals

Dedicated to more people then I can keep track of. . . this made sense to no one but me.