Introspection (Page 7)

A small, pink flower grows up between the unfinished, wood planks of a home deck.

I flay myself
on the altar of art,
cut down to the bone,
break every last part.

I write it on paper,
type it into my phone,
share it with the world,
and feel utterly alone.

[continue]. . .

The side profile of a woman, covered in gold paint makeup, she has her index finger held up in front of her pursed lips, displaying the universally recognized sign, 'Hush!'

Don’t tell anyone.
They can’t know about you,
that you’re different,
weird, unacceptable, unforgivable.

Don’t tell anyone.
They might think it was my fault.

[continue]. . .

Two ladybugs, one in flight and the other sitting on the stem of an orange spring flower. An artistic macro image with a blue background containing more, out-of-focus flowers.

A poem is not found
in an abundance of words.
Nor is it unnecessarily complex.
Poetry is found in the heart
and in the connection it makes.

[continue]. . .

A close-up of a sinister-looking man's face, with cracked skin and purple-blue eyes.

Fear makes people see things,
exactly how they thought.
Through biased eyes, accepting lies,
their heart should have fought.

Fear makes people see things.

[continue]. . .