do you believe poems possess the power to explain pure passionate pain?
i think thats what all writers hope to achieve.
showing someone their pain.
having someone read the words that they have collected on paper and organized into a structure that is somewhat sentence like and them by the last word, having a tear drop running down their face, much like how you would like to run away from those words on the paper.
having them look at you with that all too familiar glint in their eyes, and finally understanding just what the fibers of your being are composed of.
pain.
them understanding that your body wishes to die, but you are keeping yourself alive with the smallest pleasures, such as that smile you receive every day in 3rd period.
tell me, what would you do if they looked at you and said, 'goddamn it, im going to save you'
so until then, countless papers will be crumbled and thrown away, eraser shavings will cover my desk, and my eyes will go blurry from the tears begging to escape like my words do on the page.
but i will hold those too, until the day someone finally comes to clear my plate.
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 5:09 PM UTC
do you believe poems possess the power to explain pure passionate pain?
i think thats what all writers hope to achieve.
showing someone their pain.
having someone read the words that they have collected on paper and organized into a structure that is somewhat sentence like and them by the last word, having a tear drop running down their face, much like how you would like to run away from those words on the paper.
having them look at you with that all too familiar glint in their eyes, and finally understanding just what the fibers of your being are composed of.
pain.
them understanding that your body wishes to die, but you are keeping yourself alive with the smallest pleasures, such as that smile you receive every day in 3rd period.
tell me, what would you do if they looked at you and said, 'goddamn it, im going to save you'
so until then, countless papers will be crumbled and thrown away, eraser shavings will cover my desk, and my eyes will go blurry from the tears begging to escape like my words do on the page.
but i will hold those too, until the day someone finally comes to clear my plate.