But knowing everyone has a thing they've loved that's history
Makes the loss of love feel a little less lonely

no one startles a poet
when writing
because everyone knows
a pen is a
dangerous weapon
and when used correctly
can strike so deep
that even the poet
cannot undo its ink
as is it was tattoo'd
onto the fabric of existence
a sign of rebellion and pain
a battle wound for all to see
and to secretly judge
because we all know
when no ones around
is when the true colors
of a poem
come out.

It's strange, now that we have this technology
We know it's poisonous, but we're hooked
My words don't come out from my mouth, my fingertips write
Why speak or compose a letter when we can text together? Right?

It's like the words I say flow too naturally, and I'm not as afraid
They're the same thoughts- day and night- haunting my brain
But when I shoot 'em in a text it's like it's not real, it's not the same
A sad emoji replaced your empathy, and you move on with your day  

Like our words are no longer valid
*Like nothing ever even happened

it's strange to write about myself as an entity
i have always thought of myself in terms of other people
the gap between them
a body of negative space.