By: Dechen Tamang Her fingers Drip paint Pink and silver and gold Over the piano keys Drawing melancholic notes I wonder- Does she ever Swaddle me In the cotton hold Of her pieces Does she ever Dress me up In acrylic or charcoal or granite Does she ever Think of me While poetry falls from her lips While honey glows Golden over her skin While red wine glistens Tinting her lips Her fingers race Across the black and white keys Swathes and splashes Of pink and silver and gold Cover her fingers Velvet creativity And delicate imagination Envelopes her, Encloses her away from me And I’m left wondering again Will I ever be enough Of the stars or the galaxy Of crushed petals or late night poetic art Will I ever be enough Of a muse For her to notice me?
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By: Kayla Pinkerman I wasn’t sure I had never been sure Of who I was Who I was supposed to be Of how I fit into this cruel world This world which so violently twirls I once had an idea A beautiful idea It was a glance into my future But it was blown away with the wind It was the wind that came with the sigh of frustration When that idea was crushed by other’s intimidation Now I find that many things have passed That idea which was blown away That time of which I wasn’t sure Both are in a time long passed And I have an idea Now I’m sure |