I want to write a poem
But I’m not a poet anymore
I can’t breathe words and turn them into dioramas that people look at and admire
I can barely read without getting tired of seeing words
What is going on
I could only live in words before
But now I want to live in life
Now I want to breathe crisp air
And I’m greedy for the trees
I want to go and splash in puddles
Which I’ve done before
But in a different way
Not because it’s something nice to do
But because I want to enjoy the water before it goes back up
It’ll come down again
And my moods will fall too
But I’m here and I’m looking
Inside my own story
That I don’t have to rely on my own pen
I am spring
In love with winter
It's becoming so hard to express myself, especially here. It makes me want to crash into the ocean and disappear.
It's never fun,
banging on the heart of another
trying to get in when the key just, never really fit.
How can you love someone correctly,
when you're so angry over another?
My blood will not be on your hands
Though I bleed because of you.