deepundergroundpoetry.com
A letter to You
Sometimes you write of darkness
that spills from your fingertips,
As naturally as the prints
marring your hands
As if pain has become more recognizable to you
than your own fingerprints.
You say that you're unlovable.
You say that you're a disappointment.
and god knows the things you tell yourself
that no one ever hears.
And though we are just strangers,
I want to tell you that
You're Wrong.
You may call yourself Destruction,
but there's nothing wrong with rainbowed gasoline.
Without it, those scraps of metal would never find freedom on the concrete.
And truck stops
are a driver's second home.
A place to rest their weary hearts
and find the energy to keep moving forward.
and I know, I know, I know
what's its like when Sadness becomes routine
and your hands keep shaking from the coldness inside you.
I'm not sure if the sun is shining,
But if it isn't
I'll make a canvas of the walls
to try and bring it back.
And I'm sorry if this comes out sounding awkward
(I've never been good at this)
But I guess what I'm trying to say is:
Please.
Please, Don't Disappear.
My ears couldn't handle the silence.
that spills from your fingertips,
As naturally as the prints
marring your hands
As if pain has become more recognizable to you
than your own fingerprints.
You say that you're unlovable.
You say that you're a disappointment.
and god knows the things you tell yourself
that no one ever hears.
And though we are just strangers,
I want to tell you that
You're Wrong.
You may call yourself Destruction,
but there's nothing wrong with rainbowed gasoline.
Without it, those scraps of metal would never find freedom on the concrete.
And truck stops
are a driver's second home.
A place to rest their weary hearts
and find the energy to keep moving forward.
and I know, I know, I know
what's its like when Sadness becomes routine
and your hands keep shaking from the coldness inside you.
I'm not sure if the sun is shining,
But if it isn't
I'll make a canvas of the walls
to try and bring it back.
And I'm sorry if this comes out sounding awkward
(I've never been good at this)
But I guess what I'm trying to say is:
Please.
Please, Don't Disappear.
My ears couldn't handle the silence.
Published 13th Jul 2017
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13th Jul 2017 2:43am
And truck stops
are a driver's second home.
A place to rest their weary hearts
and find the energy to keep moving forward.
That is just stunning. To keep moving forward.
I hope whoever this is for relates and allows it to permeate.
One thing,
what's its like
. . .
are a driver's second home.
A place to rest their weary hearts
and find the energy to keep moving forward.
That is just stunning. To keep moving forward.
I hope whoever this is for relates and allows it to permeate.
One thing,
what's its like
. . .
13th Jul 2017 11:38am
Thank you very much! Hopes rest assured, the person this was for told me they still read this. So permeating is taking place.:)
13th Jul 2017 11:59am
13th Jul 2017 2:51pm
Though I never drove a big rig, a truck stop was my home away from home for 4 years. I found this to be very moving.
"I'm not sure if the sun is shining,
But if it isn't
I'll make a canvas of the walls
to try and bring it back."
That's just pure poetry.
"I'm not sure if the sun is shining,
But if it isn't
I'll make a canvas of the walls
to try and bring it back."
That's just pure poetry.
