those little scriblings
...in the corners of your paper...





...they're your poems too...





and every forgotten one taste melancholia
as they become grimoires of discarded feelings




crappy and mushy it may seem
love poems forgotten cry





sick and twisted it may seem
suicide poems slit their wrists for grief





grey and lonely it may seem
blues poems die from too much coffee and cigs





wierd and deranged it may seem
surreal poems lose their colors and die





whatever your poem might be
a write when you were 7 yrs old
a write for your stories untold
always remember to treasure it and keep it
in the little secret spaces of your heart





who knows...after you're dead







through them you will live









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~as long as it comes from the heart...there is no bad poetry

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