Please don’t ask me what poetry means
because its a means to communicate
what i mean,
For those who cannot speak
I’m bad at explaining my thoughts
the words which i mean to use,
a thousand songs that i might sing to you,
oh the melodies, croon them, just for you
But somehow I cannot understand
why words fail me when i need them the most
i mean,
don’t we need words to read the other?
don’t we use them, rather?
wouldn’t they be the savior of my conversations, then?
My words fumble with themselves
creating in them, patterns,
knitting yards of never ending fabric
exhausting spools that stay unbroken
They say oceans have the best kept secrets
Hidden, treasures reside
Safely;
That that which goes into a black hole,
gets ****** in it, rather,
may never return
How Adrienne questioned
the ability and in-
ability of words to mean what they mean
for silence might fill the blanks too
A song plays on the loop
didn’t we make mixed tapes to convey
what we couldn’t express,
in words, we thought rhymes
were a better solution to
love letters which were never conceived
replaced by poetry
scribbled in papers torn from the last pages
of notebooks
we thought stealing lines and verses
from our English textbooks
was being romantic
That is when I discovered
that we could mean in fewer words
without having to convey what we mean,
directly-
This world of poetry
seemed like sunshine and rainbows
for a person who had no vision;
imagine,
the wonders they could do with that magic
and I,
begging them at last
to leave me something
which I can mean and the other could decipher
as what I truly try to mean
would never be found in simple sentence meanings.
So please don’t ask me what poetry means
for I might not have words meaning what I mean.
