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Gabriella Steele Poem
I am going to write whatever I want.
A way to express oneself,
dampened by the opinioned,
but still, they're right all the same,
The quality improves,
but the emotion...
As I move my pen,
I stop in motion,
No longer do I smile,
I frown at my creation,
When did this way of expression,
becomes so gruelling,
buffeting me with same feelings,
My pen was relieving.
I want to stop judging my own work,
I want to stop thinking of a good way to rhyme,
I wish in time,
I was told,
That it was fine,
To write and not strike gold,
That your heart's song does not need a grade,
That it's alright,
Let it bloom like an emotion's spade.
But that is not reality,
A critic's not a tragedy,
What really is sickly,
Is the opinions of my own,
If I only write to express,
Why when denounced do I feel to disown,
My work, Again it trails back to this,
The voice in my head,
Its hiss and hiss,
She talks and talks scarily in my tone,
Hissing the dirty truth that is me alone,
The bad is not the critic but the me who takes it harshly,
When will I conceive,
That is it me who should hush,
Not the critic being generous.
Copyright © Gabriella Steele | Year Posted 2022
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Details |
Gabriella Steele Poem
In my dreams, I sleep
In my awake, I sleep
In my mind, I sleep
I Sleep in not apathy but unawareness
I Sleep in not as frivolous but free reining
I live the world in sleep surrounded by sprinkling fairies
Sprinkling the dust of youth from tippy toe to tippy top
The dust is light, light like my head
The dust is tender, tender like my skin
The dust is clear, clear like my mind
The dust is benevolence, it sings bene a tutti e due.
The dust is genesis, the beginning, prolonged and new.
Close your eyes
See the darkness
But I
See light
That is the sleep
The slumber
The break
The breath
The solace
That is-my carriage across the world
On its back I am through the hills of Malaysia
Through the beach of Jamaica
And to the immortal unknown.
With my sleep in the obscure, I see the meaning
With my sleep in the daunting, I see the timid
With my sleep in the proud, I see the jealous
With my sleep in the bedlam, I see the field
For even If I do not know
My sleep is my eyes
My eyes are my heart
And my heart soothed.
Copyright © Gabriella Steele | Year Posted 2022
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Details |
Gabriella Steele Poem
You loathe the way it makes you feel,
To know that this could never be real,
But when your eyes lock the feeling’s surreal,
Why now has my first love been revealed...
Day by day I hear his voice,
It rings in my ears as I rejoice,
Then I’m pulled back in to the lair of death,
Where I plead relentlessly for what I know will come next.
My father’s upset, I hold back my cries,
No more regrets, we’ll try to hide,
Why do I want this thing so bad,
When I have a controlling, sorry, protective dad.
No need to fret, I love to lie,
I just could never forget, I really tried,
For me this feeling transcends any threat,
That's what my father just can not get.
My face is bruised,
But this man runs loose,
Around my mind,
I know that it’s for real this time.
Copyright © Gabriella Steele | Year Posted 2022
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