Picture In A Broken Frame Poem, by Bonnie Elizabeth, at My poetic side

Some of the pictures I paint

They sit in a broken frame

So, I conceal the true meaning stroking ink on the page

When I consider how I’m living

For a minute I’m saved

Then the next minute its rage

Everything in its phase

What I want and what I can have

Are so contradictory

First I think its meant for me

Then *poof* its gone

like a mystery

Maybe its my desires

Got me seeing mirages

How can I paint objects

With closed eyelids

If all my mind does

Is play tricks on itself

Imagine how my head felt

-mental gymnastics*

Pretty the art work sits

In gold frames on the wall

But what I scribble and scrawl

Isn’t meant to be awed

I don’t consider it disturbed

But l don’t know if you will

…..

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