Poetry, my safe space

Poetry was just
an escape from
all the anxiety
and daily stumbles

Poetry remains
to be my safe space
to bleed out this
troubled soul

Poetry, my therapy
a way to heal
and be a better me

~ © John Acéx

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Notebook

The notebook,
had been lonely all her life
Stacked up with her family in the shelves
And though she gathered up dust at times
Deep down she was neat and clean,
She had that new fresh smell
That made her more attractive,
She was still full of all her pages
With no form of rip-outs,
But something always felt missing,
She was perfect in her making
With no distorted puppy ears
She was all pure and innocent
Her beauty was one to marvel at
Stood out from all her kith and kin;

She always wore this hard black cover
Unlike the rest’s brightly coloured ones,
She loved and adored her black cover
She’d say it made her feel safe
It made her look unfazed and chilled;
Inside her, she had the finest of pages
somewhat shady white and perfectly trimmed,
Her pages were a varied of sorts
Some were uniformly ruled in deep black
and yet some were just plain
You see, this always made her beautiful
She considered herself blessed
But honestly, something always felt missing
She felt alone and always in distress
She needed a saviour, a hero of some sort
Her story was unfinished
She needed one who’d help her feel complete
She needed her own special Pen
And she only hoped on destiny!

~ John Acéx