During my time of the month, I am overwhelmed with emotions and suddenly poetry comes to me like breathing. Here's one of those moments.
Behind the curtains
When the first drop of ink claims itself on
a paper
You never know, of the worth it will become
It could cease to begin, right then.
Or it could become an epic.
Kept in a jeweled chest,
Like a treasure.
What we forget, is that the drop
is a puppet, and the pen is the strings.
And you are the one behind the curtains.
Goodluck =)
now we are talking girl!
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