thank god i can’t write good poetry
the best poetry comes from pain and hurt if you ask me
so although i can’t write like i used to
at least it means i’m doing alright

between you and me,
i'm still rooting for us.

maybe not in this lifetime,
but in the end.

Words do not echo.
Words do not cry.
Words do not,
Identify.

Scrambled and stirred,
Frozen and baked.
Pulled when needed,
Eaten to be fed.

Pieced together,
Black or white,
Laugh or fight,
Wrong or right.

A sound is bound by key,
A picture by color pigments,
Emotions chemically,
But words contain,
Everything,
And absolutely,
Nothing.

The same word
Can be
Completely
Different,
Depending who, what, how
When it was read
Or written.

What if every word,
Was positive in meaning?
Harmless,
Could not
Destroy feelings.

Words have no senses.
Words have no bounds.
No touch, sight, taste, or smell.
Words have no sound.

Words have no sound.
Unless read aloud.

When I ignore questions,
It's no accident
I read into every line,
Every word,
Every bit of punctuation
And I respond in kind
Read into me
Like I read into you
You might fall in love
Or you might find my pain
In my silence
My delay
A forced smile;
Watch my eyes
When you get up to leave
I'm anything but cool
But I play it that way
And if you miss it
You've just missed me

Drip drip drip*
(to) flip the switch
Lay you out
remember this

Flattened lines
without a spine
Backbone gone
you're out of time

What to do
I'm split in two
Halfway there
we aren't through

Needle's cold
so veins can hold
Nothing more
than what you sold

Took what's free
atoned the sea
Running red
with all of me

she spits out hurt like fire
a dragon in her own flesh
what little can he do
but pull out a cigarette

he'd rather burn his lungs instead
to refrain from saying things simply
misread


© A. Leigh