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prose poetry spilled ink creative writing poems

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prose poetry spilled ink creative writing poems
What do I want to be when I grow up? I want to be happy. I want be the feeling. I want to be the thrill during roller coaster rides. I want...
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I saw an angelon the bus,with calligraphy curvesand willowy limbs,and she was beautifuland I wasn’t lustful, or envious,just a happy admirer.Then,she touchedher stomachwith her lady-like hands,and sucked it in.And it broke my heart to thinkthat maybeeven angels cry. 
I don’t want to be toldthat the moon is beautifuldespite the factthat it is cratered,I want to be told that the moon is beautiful because of the factthat it is cratered,and that the blinding suncan’t helpbut shine a light on this broken beauty. 
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loving you is easy. loving you is muscle memory.
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