So... I don't usually post what I write, because I'm worried that I'll get criticized on my writing, and the skills of my writing, and how I"m super bad at it... *cringe*

Anyways, so, I'm going to be really brave right now, and post one of my poems on here, you are welcome to use it Blue Moon, so yeah. 

Anyways, here's the poem. 

My Sleeping Beauty:

There she lies, head rested on her arms,

my sleeping beauty.

Her hair wrapped

gently around her face;

cheeks rosy pink,

lips radiant red.

Lovely cannot begin to describe her beauty. 

Beautiful both inside-and out,

she lights the world of everyone she meets.

When she smiles, her eyes sparkle brightly,

and when she laughs, 

I feel like I could fly.

The moment she denies her radiance-

my heart aches,

for I see her for who she is:

Perfect.

Mistakes she has-

her flaws many,

yet she tries her best to make them strengths.

She's perfect to me,

and is never out of my thoughts.

In times of trial, 

she strengthens me.

She sees my imperfections, yet helps me

just the same.

I don't deserve her.

How could she like me-

a boy of many flaws?

How does she continue to overlook them?

To see me for who I am,

who I truly am?

She surprises me every day,

every moment.

Her strength is larger than she knows,

always thinking of others before herself.

Now there she lies, head rested on her arms.

Like a guardian angel I watch her,

my sleeping beauty. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Just so the record stays straight: I am a girl; however I wrote this poem from a boy's perspective/point of view.) 

@Blue Moon:

Sure, if you want to use a rough draft you can! If you want me to make a final draft I can do that as well.  

Here's something I wrote for the storm prompt on YWP NaNo a few months ago. It's a bit open ended, so I'll probably post something longer, as there was a word limit before, that has a clear ending in a few days.

To everyone else, Marigold must have looked evil, the clouds dancing around her, threateningt o spill rain on the townspeople. But to Marigold, the hot wax dripping from her fingers felt good as it burned her skin. Besides, her burns were already healing.

She held her hands above the clear water, her large brown eyes watching the wax drip with passive interest, much like the laziest cat watches a mouse outside his window. Lowering her hands, Marigold began to chant. Softly at first, but as she felt the power seep through her body her voice increased in volume.

Marigold didn’t notice but the crowd tightened, some daring to touch their toes to the water's edge, others leaning over the water with their hand clasped around branches of the majestic oak trees that rimmed the pond. The clouds began to dance, going out and coming back. Only when the first drop of rain fell did Marigold look up again.

“It is done.” She said, her voice full of power. “Go home now.” Silence followed, with many uncertain glances. But as the rain poured down in gray sheets, the group retreated, murmuring their thanks.

Marigold turned away, a frown growing. Her chestnut hair was plastered to her head and back, which was most uncomfortable, and she was exhausted.

Just as she was about to begin the uphill trek to her house, she felt a tug on her black trousers.

Looking down, Marigold saw a girl of seven or eight with green eyes and blond ringlets unaffected by the rain. Emma. A sweet girl. Or so she thought.

It didn't even cross the most powerful witch’s mind that this little girl could be her undoing.

But here we are, ten years later, and I, Emma Lockburne, am telling the story of Marigold’s death.

This looks really neat! You are welcome to use any of my stuff, if you can find it that is.

A wonderful idea! Anything of mine, you may use.