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Feb 2018
I have thought of these words, not the ones you may hear when your body presses to the air, and the sound-waves go unobstructed, no the words lay here on a page, within a thought that didn't happen today but might show up tomorrow, recorded by the blood of bone, water, and metal, each etched mark, stains the memory of a time when oxygen was free and clean to breathe, finding out that the next moment these words are consumed, their meaning becomes a new personality, these thought words and the specific tact and errors, prolonging the flow from the head to the finger tips, thus causing minor adjustments, which make even the most thought out words seem like they have no true, maybe real, meaning, accused we stand, on trial, only a judge begging for a recess, but my closing statement is not finished.
I keep a thought journal with me everywhere I go and I wrote this poem inside it. the reason this is important is because when I am writing in the journal I never edit myself or stop the word flow unless the thoughts finally stop coming. But with my poetry I look over everything and edit until my words take on a personality of their own. I am pulled towards the gravity of something new.
Kyle madill Baker
Written by
Kyle madill Baker  30/Other
(30/Other)   
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