They say a picture tells a story of a thousand words, my words are a thousand stories ive pictured unheard. My thoughts are firey fiercness supressed in my chest, force fed these words with a pressure as i press my hand on my chest. My mind memorised things that shouldnt loudly be read, vocally grasping, mesmorizing minds with wicked things that ive said. Because my words are free does that mean that my talk is cheap? Hidding under the layers of lies i bury the truth that i keep. Counted sheep turn into dark allyways as i sleep, ive mended my own quilt of life staining the cloth as i weap. No currancy valuing my outcries as deeply the tears seap. The salty waters underline my eyes as i contemplate what my life signifies, hazy fog disqualifies possibilities as i try to justify, how a blan cacoon of endless strans of black produce the vibrant wings of butterflies. Released into the unknown and unpredictable habitats of no remorce, the transformation of my thoughts to words like that of a catapillars coarse.
© 2011 All Rights Reserved
Poem By: MizUnderstood
Photography by: Lisa Roberts
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