Don't Read My Poems
By:Olivia Taylor
They are an excuse to get a rapid heartbeat,
Filling my heart with emotion.
The ink is my blood,
Bleeding through these wasted pages.
Its my next step,
To the bloody truth.
My heart is writing a language,
My head does not understand.
I’ll watch the crimson liquid of answers,
Drip from my quill.
The letters swoop and curve angelic words,
So I’ll keep writing.
Until the blood smears,
And I hear the last of my heartbeat.
My Storybook
By:Olivia Taylor
The ending of my book is my choice,
Even if you want to be the editor.
All of my readers will hear my voice,
Because all of my dreams will become something more.
For now you help me write my story,
But you aren't the true author.
I’ll let you down gently,
Even when no one ever seems to bother.
I will not stay locked up in your storybook,
Or be permanent ink bleeding into this town.
Stop trying to read between the lines and just look,
I am not a bunch of loose papers waiting to be bound.
I will write my own pages,
Finding the real me.
Throw out the key to my cages,
And write my own history.