She used to be my muse,
now,
she is just another face in the crowd;
and when I look at her,
I think,
‘how?’
How did she used to make me feel so many things?
And now,
nothing,
no inspiration.
Nothing.
Her smile does nothing.
Her eyes do nothing.
How?
This is the problem with beauty,
you my find it somewhere,
at a certain time,
but let time tick,
and come back to it,
and see
if it
is still beautiful to you.
-C.H.
Why is it that we are so eager to appreciate the beauty of a: flower, or a waterfall, or the stars, or a sunset; but we are hardly ever that open to seeing the beauty in each other? Why is that, dear
“A simple request” she says, “Speak to me in poem, intrigue my mind with your words, genuine and authentic, for your words become actions, are the framework of our relationship, and have the power to
There’s a camera on top of the building Next to this one And it points Right at me I lift up my shirt And flash it my hairy nipple Then I give it the finger It moves with me Turning as I walk away fro
