you cant always make pain leave. it knows its directions. it knows how to follow you home. pain knows its way to your sheets. it knows which side of the pillow is colder. if it ever visits you tonight just let it in, lead it to the blank pages of a notebook. there, it will stay. between these lines, this is where it stays.
Holding you close to my chest, Whilst surrounded With miasma and cacophony, Even though I might not Be writing in you, Gives me a hope of redemption And return To my astral abode, Where swelling silence and love Await.
To all the things that come to behold Me, My Poetry and immortalise my grandeur With simple carbon. To all the notebooks and journals that let us speak and flourish
Bring the buried flower, Bring the burned out candle. Bring the closed notebook, Bring the ended hour. Dig up the flower, Strike the match, Open the notebook, Begin a new hour. Bring the writing you’re afraid of And regenerate it, and Make it speak. Scatter your poems left and right, Because the world can’t wait to hear Your words.
You are not a bird to be locked in a cage. The door is unlocked—. Fly as high as you can and discover it all. Fly as fast as you can and feel something. Fly as slow as you can and experience everything.