What did words look like before poetry…
They felt effortless, like none of them had points and sharp edges that hurt
None lost themselves inside of me, buried in the deep hollows spreading from my feet to my shadow.
What did anything look like before poetry?
It was beautiful, passing and fleeting and instant and beautiful…
Now its still beautiful but I cant seem to capture it…
Before it was as easy as a picture…
But now each image sits in my mind, replaced by letters and words and the imagination makes dull grey pages of black print out of blue and white mountain peaks, shimmering frosty snow glinting with the sun the snowflakes catch on their tongues. Nothing looks like this anymore...because it needs to be words.
I want to look at my pages and see portraits painted with loving hands, tortured and weak and passionate.
I want to hear that acoustic guitar, those nylon strings plucking upbeat and fast, strumming to a spanish melody trying to cover a southern diddy slathered in bongos and an old voice singing hard to here comes the sun, cause its alright!!
But big fingers slip so callously over pen smudges in notebooks. I instead focus on the smudges. My eyes drawn to what I can only grasp when theyre closed. Ears hearing sounds Ive lost inside the pages.
What did words look like before poetry?
They werent...they didnt.
feeling lost in fog
headlights stuck in the air
worth in words
words worthless
