Some poems are hard, I just don’t know what to write the words stick in the back of my head and refuse to form sentences and lines. I sit and wait and hope for the words but they are lost in the jumble that is my thoughts like a tangled ball of yarn I have to untangle it piece by piece
and hope it is usable and not just a pile of ruined thoughts. it reminds me of knitting a sweater stitch by stitch, word by word, it comes together and after work and some time it makes a beautiful thing to be worn and showed off, but sometimes it fails and falls apart
it unravels in my hands and the hard work that I have put my love into is lost it crumbles like a cliff into the sea making waves that crash and wreck my body leaving it helpless and crumpled like the ball of paper I threw on the floor.
a small white ball on a grey floor, the beauty of it hits me and I find my inspiration it’s something simple but isn’t all beauty simple? the curl of hair on a lover stretched out like a cat in the sun moonlight floating through the window falling on a pale white limb so much like the paper
with scribbles and crossed out lines the paper is beautiful, damaged yes but beautiful none the less, like a body with curves and waves and endings and beginnings scars and stretch marks pail in the dark shining like tears on the cheek of a girl who lost
lost a parent, or a love, or lost the part of her that cried “you are beautiful “you are loved, it’s okay not to be okay “as long as you rise up again and what ever you do, do not forget who you are” it is beauty plain and simple
and as you read my piece of paper with the lost poem of the girl who fell apart you’ll see its simple the floor is the sky and the word are stars