Lying down with humming birds in my ear. Images of past memories and the saddest moments fly through my head like shredded raining paper. Climbing the mountain located in life with scrapes and cuts, bruises and whelps, on my body, but still trudging. As the world stops moving, and the colors fade, as the last tear falls, and the sweet humming dies, I still rise at the top. Successfully wining my self-respect, pride, and self-endurance.
IamtheStargirl
I really like this style of poem :)
Oh, and I think you mean "whelt", a whelp is:
a. A child; a youth.b. An impudent young fellow.
Keep up the good work!
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