Music Notes

Music
The most beautiful thing I'll ever know
A music note
A note after another note
Composed to create sound
To create feelings
Thoughts
And emotion
Music notes are the most beautiful things I've ever seen
A note
Just a glance and u know
Knowing music is being created
Just the beauty of a music note
And the thing is
I can't read music notes
Just the sound the music notes make

poem by Aerin Andre
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A Breathe of Fresh Air

I'm a deep thinker
And I'm just trying to live my life
Who am I?
The answer is, I'm not quite sure

I have that feeling
The feeling in your stomache
The feeling behind your ribs
That feeling that just can't let you be

The pain
Well can I even call it that
It's not quite pain
It's absence of pain
It's just the feeling
The feeling that's always present
I just want it to go away

Please just go away

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poem by Aerin Andre
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A reason to be held

I'm tired of being alone
Tired of the racism
Tired of being the center of every joke
Why
Why, because I'm not the same as you
I'm not the same and I'm faulted for it every day

I'll never be right because no one knows
For I never speak
I just want to cry sometimes
I want to cry like a child
I want to crawl into a little space and cry
Cry because I'm all alone
Why can't I be loved
My mother she left me without looking back
My family there is no family
Just memories that stand for nothing

I just want to be loved
I want to be loved the same as everyone else

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poem by Aerin Andre
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A Hero Is Dead!

A battle worn hero is dead and whose fault lays with me.
The hero of the fable has passed
One glistening tear falls down my dirt ready cheek.
The enclosing pain in the center of my chest grows in pain.
How is it even achievable to stare into a shattered piece of a reflection knowing that the hero is missing.
A life has passed and I can not comprehend who the fault seems to lay.
Yet all the evidence lays to my skin pieced finger prints.
How to express the known knowledge of guilt that rapidly unravels all that seemed automatic information.
The fog never truly evaporates for his followers weep in distress.
The hero seemed so impervious to all pessimism, and yet he is missing in this event.
Sit and ponder for he should nonchalantly glide through this red slit entrance way with a humorous explanation.
All that enters is a gust of narcissism with ever so steady drops and keep the pressure conscious.
Memory to fade for knowing why this champion has vanished.
A hero is in fact dead because of me.
Who gallantly helps those in the select situations and need the heroic character.
Lay and snivel from which ever position relieves the most pain from whatever hole seems to be backed up in agoraphobia.
Persistently trying to push the slide show of the events passed in a glimmer to not repossess the ache that has not taken leave.
A soul is gone and yet the responsibility lies on my shoulders.
How is this dealt with without extreme precautions or any other effects to keep the feelings away.
Yet nothing is left to discuss for no ones gentle hand can offer the reparations needed or no decided subtext required.

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poem by Aerin Andre
Added by Poetry Lover
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