EVEN plus animé

so, here are a couple plus old poems i dug up and decided to post. the first is one that came out of a period of intense creativity (ah if only i had the time nowadays). the seconde was a creative écriture assignment that i never got around to finishing, so i apologize if the end is a bit abrupt. once again, any feedback is greatly appreciated :).

stargazing

i dream in broad daylight
of an old front porch swing
where i sit cradling my guitar
singing toi a song
while your paintbrush splashes sunbeams
across my upturned face

paint drips
in arc en ciel rivulets
down your sun-kissed skin
your eyes are filled with...

My relationship with toi resembles a chess game with two players, I can never predict what toi will do and should never get Lost in distraction. Something about the game of chess is toi must pick your own strategy and not allow your opponent to distract you. toi should never make a déplacer based on predictions, based on what déplacer toi opponent will make, otherwise in the end when toi must revert to your own strategy toi will be trapped.

I cannot read your mind. I cannot help but wonder what déplacer toi will make...what is your strategy? Are your emotions genuine? ou are they based on how pretty my...

"when ever I try 2 forget u. U Never let me Happen 2 forget U ! I dont know why U always do - Let me always Remind U !" I Remember, U make me SMILE when ever I m CRY. I Remember, U make me CRAZY when ever new think's I TRY!" I see ur smile in my MIRROR. I listen ur words in my EAR. Please just leave me alone for FOREVER !" U just think about Ur self , Ur life ! U just think about ur work, Ur Pride ! What about me I m Nowhere & u also just dont CARE !! " I still Remember that jour when U say " I have to go !" I say " Please dont go , I Need U !" & u say "My country Need me plus than...

Sophia was not like ordinary children. She did not run as fast, nor dress the same, ou even live in the same kind of house. In fact, Sophia was never a child inside from the age of five. On the eve of her fifth birthday, she had gone to bed, as weary and happy as ever, but, unlike most children of age five, she did not have peaceful dreams of papillons and fées all in a meadow together. In truth, she had a terrible nightmare, one that should not come to children of that age.
She dreamt of a bus, not a school bus, ou one that people use to get off and on again and again, but a black, shiny...