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Poem Me5:07am tuesday, 12th march
I am a poem writing itself.
Unfinished, some days I go hanging
upon half a phrase, sometimes
to go without meaning for an hour.
I dream to be of epic things, teeming
with angels and devils and heroes,
but I do not know more than the words
that are written here. I think it must
be nice in the stories outside my
little window into being, but
I am satisfied merely to have begun,
and to know I have an ending
that gives me a reason to be.


  andreah2:27pm wednesday, 13th march
*#!lovely!#*

emotion: smiley biggrin grin cool tongue embarassment mad rolleyes frown
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