There are so many writers,
poems, and work
that I haven't seen.
the new poems I read
make me wonder if it's worth it.
They make me wonder
why I even try.
then again,
many things come about
and make me ask myself
why I even try.
These poems aren't meant to
mend your feelings.
They aren't meant to kill your demons.
They are meant to fill me.
Writing fills my empty spaces with words.
I am fascinated with words ;
always have been.
Writing seems to me as a
competitive game,
with its many complexities
and I always lose.
I lose every game.
that's the beauty in this.
the loser always goes through the most.
experiences are topics.
words come together and
make a stanza.
With more I go through
the better writing I have.
Happiness doesn't make writing well,
thoughts do.
I put my thoughts to use.
The loser came out in top and
gave meaning to the game.









It's her new favorite.