The OneHe's the one who never complained about your tears staining his clothes.The One in Free Verse More Like This
He's the one who was always there when you wanted to cuddle.
He's the one who never denied you if you wanted to just rant and rave about something.
He's the one who always took whatever abuse you gave him without a single complaint.
He's the one who never told your secrets to anybody.
He's the one who was always there, even as others came and went.
He's the one who never left of his own accord.
He's the one who always molded to what you wanted.
He's the one who never judged you.
He's the one who always cared, even if nobody else did.
He's the one who never told you that you weren't good enough.
He's the one who always let you bury your face in him and just scream.
He's the one who never hurt you, even if you hurt him.
He's the one who was always there when you wanted him and who was never there when you didn't.
He's the one who's seen you happy, sad, angry, and just plain emotionless.
He's the one who waited every
Convert Your SensesThe feeling of a kitten's fur is the sound of a contented breath.Convert Your Senses in Free Verse More Like This
The sound of a contented breath is the taste of peppermint.
The taste of peppermint is the smell of the air after a soft rain.
The smell of the air after a soft rain is the sight of a swirled pastel canvas.
The sight of a swirled pastel canvas is the feeling of a kitten's fur.
Two FriendsTwo friends sit side by side; I seeTwo Friends in Free Verse More Like This
A sapling and an old, dead tree.
One aged and gnarled, the other new
A group which numbers only two.
One seems so wise, so full of thought
The other having just one knot.
From bark of gray to leaves of green
Lies much experience in between.
One says, "I have seen it all"
The other, "I will grow so tall!"
And for these two unlikely friends,
I see very different ends.
But seer or prophet I am not,
Author and artistthat's my spot.
So for the stump and the growing tree,
I wish good times and luck to thee.
Wheat FieldsI found him in the wheat fields.Wheat Fields in Short Stories More Like This
I never would have expected to stumble across someone like him on my father's lonesome golden property. It was separated even from the tiny town down the road by several miles. Not to mention the fact that people like him just didn't exist there. Frankly, I felt like I had stumbled upon an entirely different species.
My first thought upon seeing him was, "black." Inarticulate, yes, but very accurate at the same time. His mussed brown hair was streaked with sections of black dye, especially around his lengthy silken bangs. His shirt was the same dark absence of color, punctuated only by a few thin white stripes which wrapped horizontally around his chest. He was also clad in long, baggy black jeans which were bunched up around his chunky boots. A glitter caught my eye, and I saw some worn-looking chains dangling from his side belt loop. He lay in a casual position on his back atop a certain beaten-down bed of wheat which I recognized all too quickly