meloostraightfromhertilt-a-world
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commit to write
just a few short words smatter them across the pages sentences so loud perhaps they are wailing flailing their meanings the punctuation calling attention to itself like a spoiled kind of brat I must be heard but who is hearing me we must listen to ourselves when others don't good to be the girl with unusual persistence I insist on persistently puttering along my words may never be read be a solo kind of song that only echos in the forest of my mind life indeed can be unkind (good times/bad times/all times get over) unkind times malinger/do they at times it (life) does not favor success on many the omelets made of nest eggs are aplenty...(really...I think not) still I have lived for today and write what I may though no ears no eyes nor hearts perceive my words all my bon mots will have to be apropos enough for moi and sentences are best expressed better not to remain oppressed for the repressed of us have been far too many locked minds are not the kind I'd call refined but reluctantly curved and bent (by whom is the controversy) the right key to find is in your own latch unlock true creativity and make yourself hatch inside find the yolk, the cornucopia of the unrefined mind. Copyright October 15 2012 All Rights Reserved by this Author Melissa A Howells Meloo from her Tilt-a-World. Vote for this poem
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