She twists and turns in the spaces of the poem.
Between the stanzas where nothing was said.
She makes that nothing into something, her body moving so effortlessly.
She helps write the words telling a story that wants to be told.
She dances through a stary night, carrying brushes and paint to make swirls and dips.
She takes herself to a bridge over water lilies, dipping her hands in the water making it ripple beneath the lillies.
She's helping make art but she's art herself.
Her beauty within and outside
Her love for others and herself flourish into words and colors
Creating a work of art.
YOU ARE READING
My Poetry
PoetryMost of this is sad, any TW will be at the start of them I'm a 16 y/o just wanting to share some of my poetry with people other than my friends :] (Also feel free to comment any tips and how I could improve on my writing!)
