Ink Spots

My pen is so full of ink

It gushes from my fountain pen

Splattering on the paper,

making an ink spot.

like what doctors of the mind use

to figure people out.

I see

A spider, a bear, a prickly cactus

who cares,

ink spots are obsolete.

 

Isolating

So I stay to myself,

So I'm quiet,

So what if I'm alone.

My mind, being full of feelings,

pressures me to write.

Don't bother

trying to lure me into friendship

I know I would love you,

Except I don't have the time.

Don't be disturbed

at my being alone.

I'm OK.

Just occupied.

Changing

Watching the ice cycle drip

outside my window.

knowing it will melt away.

It still exists, but 

in a different form.

I'm wishing for something,

pretty and caring, soft and loving

holding me

Forever.

but like the ice cycle

everything changes.

Draught

The ground is hard,
crumbling, and cracked.
My soul is limp,
like a thirsty plant
begging for water.

A raisin nurtured with love
grows backwards,
becoming a grape.
A young, lucsious, purple grape.
soaking in a bowl of water.

Bone Cold

The air is full of little white spots
floating towards the ground,
icy on my tongue.
frozen on my window

I bundle up warm, sitting
by the fire, drinking
hot chocolate, eating
donuts.

Outside,
a painting of pure, white, untouched
snow.
the bone cold air feels good.

Ugly Guts

I know my guts are ugly
Difficult to watch
Something to be avoided,
My pores are seeping 
moss covering a rock
Sitting in the middle
of your pure white carpet,
among designer furniture, and
carefully placed flowers.

Being so ugly, It's hard to ignore.
I understand your discomfort
Your not wanting to know
How ugly a thing can be,
so I'll try to be more careful
While spilling my guts and 
being so ugly.

What It's About

Holidays stir feelings
With holiday shopping
and funds running low
The days running fast,
and I'm running slow.
Thinking of Loved ones,
and being at home
Not for sorrow 
and being alone.
It's about the savior,
bringing peace, joy,
and love
He came as a child
from Heaven above.