Her writings, pretty sunshine
To you Dear blank pages I confess
I am not a poet.I Write words words.
Screw my pen, screw this ink
I've got only to wite this myself. Again,
I write words words.
To you dear I Confess
Lots vocabulary of our own I wrote
Lots mysteries I wrote but never told
Screw my pride, now i've got guts to.
Still, they are words words.
Highlighted it is, this page scream words
Words Worth her rhythm, pretty sunshine
Casted are words so blessed
Words sooo fit
I call them words words
Look. As obvious as it seems, Again
Hear out words of confession
One finally found fantasy flowers I wite
Indeed they are word swords
Lucky pretty sunshine, they turned out
to be poetic.
©iag..aimee
I