I painted this dancer and I messed up her arms. But I rather like it. I can relate. My body has its own rules Hidden, not written down Vague and unclear Very fog of war and unfair And when I make progress The rules change again Some things I get ya know Wrinkles come with…
I want things I’ve never wanted Or didn’t know I did Peaceful days Patient people Comfortable friends Content nights Warm arms to Fall asleep in Strong arms to Support my failings The dreams I had Died with youth My older heart Just wants to rest And feel loved
She sat wondering what he saw in her She wasn’t the colorful person anymore The one that laughed louder than most Danced until her legs gave way to gravity She wasn’t the girl with the goth hair Or the one wearing the fishnets and heels She wasn’t that girl anymore She was too old, too…
She fought the fight gone Energy lost to the fading Slow stepping beats Like a labored dragging Only time remains Erratic in its spinning And rigidity laces Around bones bracing Cover her in sand And set a fire blazing Death in a kiln A tribute everlasting
OK…so….John started this after reading something one of us wrote on twitter. I am not sure what it was now; but it was funny….it was…really….I think. Anyway, this poem reminds me of this picture I took being silly at a 1920’s party. This is for everyone who gets tired of seeing me post vanity pics…
HASTYWORDS 