A poem is not a place to belong It’s hard and rough treacherous and long words are wounded bled and blended the rhymes are lies stiff short and ended lines are cut and dissected meanings fray if not mended a poem is no place too small to find your space without a wall or ground to pace no not at all no support or hold for a poor poet not to fall
At one time or another a poet gets frustrated, angry even tormented by what was meant to be a joyous experience. Do you dare to write? I hate it! But no doubt I’ll write another tomorrow.
Clearly darkened visions, painless painful lessons, different days, different versions, different verses, verifications. Done, dysphoric, a kind demon, a tidy mess, deadly antidote. Help! I'm filled with emptiness.
I didn't know happiness could be so sweet. I'm afraid to let my wall down, Knowing all this could be gone. What if I wake up and this all a dream? I can't go back, The scares are still fading. My heart is broken, slowly getting back together. I was knocking on death's door, I'm finally Afraid of leaving.
Days like this I don’t want to forget. I will miss the laughs and walking down empty fields. The smiles that could light up a dark sky. I wish I could freeze today and replay until It comes true again. I’m going to miss you when this is over. When this ends up just being a memory