CrescentCaribou

Plastic bottle made to be trash. Dead after a single use. To the garbage with others like me, discarded and useless. Melted, I rise from the ashes like a majestic phoenix. I'm remolded, reshaped, reborn into a brand new body. I'm now a toy to make a kid happy and to play with them. I'm something new, something cherished, loved unconditionally. Once a bottle, now a plaything. A new life ahead of me.

I love to ex press my self In many different forms Musically Artistically Poetically All these are fun unique exciting They make me feel free happy in control When I see a blank canvas I see what could be there its limitless potential endless possibilities For me, creativity is an escape calming therapeutic freeing beautiful By getting thoughts into words or ideas onto paper I can learn more about myself and my emotions. I can get a better handle on myself and hopefully give myself some insight on the inner workings of my

The faeries and elves Steal a changeling child on A midsummer's night. Titania and Oberon, The lovers, Mechanicals.

Voices a-plenty All singing in harmony. Beautiful music Made by a crowd of strangers. The virtual sounds, unreal.

Cute, furry crazy Little ball of energy She loves everyone Other than mice and canines A playful little sweetheart

Closed. The sign seemed to mock me as I stood there, trying to see if there was something I missed. This place couldn’t be closed. This couldn’t be real. I read over it one more time. “Due to the lack of use, this building is CLOSED INDEFINITELY, or until further notice.” A few more times it repeated itself in my head until I realized the horrifying truth of the situation. This was really happening. My one freedom from reality was taken from me. The library was gone. Peering into the lobby through the glass double doors, I saw the books sitting there, just beyond my reach. The shelves were as full as always, hundreds of thousands of novels, millions of pages of knowledge and mystery, excitement and freedom, calm and romance. Closed. Gone. Just too far away. Everything started to sink in. I had always liked how quiet it was in there, perfect for diving into a fantasy realm. I guess I never thought about how I was their only patron. I never thought about the impact

Why do we write, scribbling ink onto paper? Why do we do it now instead of later? Why indeed do we do so many things in life,  Instead of facing head on its many strifes? For some, these stanzas and rhymes help a bit.  They make us think and let us control it.  Illusions of stability made by turning thoughts into words,  Otherwise, would any of us even be heard? Flowing,                 Freeform,                                   Uniquely                                          structured, Or perhaps even A short and simple haiku Packed with a large punch. So many different types await the creative mind. Some may choose to let them rhyme entwined,  Or to let them fall flat without a twin.  There is no wrong way to write,  Nor is there a wrong reason,  But to ignore it at all,  Commits against yourself treason.  Let the creative juices flow freely,  Let them go how they might. However your poem turns out,  Just make sure             it feels                right.