Some girls know all of each others poetry off by heart.
They find assonance in their laughter.
Their linked hands echo in sybilance.
I sometimes sing as if I am one of them
but what if I can't hum on key?
What if my elegies are the ones nobody reads?
Words, words, words. They rush over me and out of me
to a dead audience.
There is no innocent brush of fingers
or sweet laughter, only the perverse desire
to write something more than myself
and wait for an empty orchestra of applause to greet me.
Perhaps if I write as I am
then I will become who I am not.
Perhaps I will become one of the poets,
harmonising in time with the rest of you.