Sep 2015
not all poems have words.
some, like the way I feel right now
are written in the stricken pulse of one
who loves when she ought not to love
and hates when hate is not called for.
There are no choice words for this,
though I will try, and fail, I can't write it
because maybe there are words
but I'm not allowed to write them.
(why do I feel like I need permission to feel?)
some, like the way I feel right now
are written in the stricken pulse of one
who loves when she ought not to love
and hates when hate is not called for.
There are no choice words for this,
though I will try, and fail, I can't write it
because maybe there are words
but I'm not allowed to write them.
(why do I feel like I need permission to feel?)
thinking about how even this is a concealment of my own emotions for fear they will make other people uncomfortable. I've realized I've been censoring myself for the sake of not disturbing the balance of things. But this practice, in its core, is disturbing the balance of my own soul.
