art
Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
Please Don't Cry Over Spilled Rice
When I was a child, I would often come home with an untouched lunch. My parents never understood why I didn't want to eat Vietnamese food. Especially at school. The food I had within my lunchboxes often consisted of strong smells and tastes, so foreign to the peers around me. I was anxious, I was scared that I would become ostracized for eating something different. Now, I know that Vietnamese food, has an abundance of colour, aroma, and depth. All of these things were definitely, not found in Lunchables.
By Lenora Huỳnh7 years ago in Poets
The Other Side
My view of the world is strangely beautiful. So vivid but to me but to others vague. I ponder day and night if I wasn’t me who would I be? Even if I was another would I still think of them as myself? Would I still be bold? Love writing? Could I sing a beautiful tune? I can’t now but if I was them would I not be in gloom? Would my depression become better? Or would I not have any at all? Would I still be tall and think of myself as small? Moving at the same speed. Would I still be the weird me? Looking up at the sky for hours wondering what is like up there. Pondering that life. My feet don’t touch the ground. They wouldn’t. They would never not for a second. I view the world strangely yet I view the word like me.
By Nubian Misfits7 years ago in Poets
