Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night
with a poem
burning on the roof of my mouth.
Thoughts unknown to me
pouring onto blank pages
from a spring hidden in the deepest part of myself.
The dark room is silent
except for the scribbling of my pen
and the beat of my heart.
"I am. I am. I am."
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 12:19 AM UTC
Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night
with a poem
burning on the roof of my mouth.
Thoughts unknown to me
pouring onto blank pages
from a spring hidden in the deepest part of myself.
The dark room is silent
except for the scribbling of my pen
and the beat of my heart.
"I am. I am. I am."
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