I fill my pages with words Scribbled in the margin  Crammed into every white space Black and blue and sometimes red  There is never enough  Poems and stories and songs  If I keep speaking Maybe someone will start listening 

What are you made of?

What makes you? ~~~ Made of sticks and stones,The wind whistles a melody,Through open holes,Crooked smile, charcoal bones,My footsteps are the Pounding of a waterfallAnd my thoughts?They are gunpowderMy heart pulls the triggerLoud LoudLoudMade of blood and bones,Singing to a silent song,Every wrinkled shown,Shadowed eyes, withered crone