my words are used to having a destination -
a conversion rate,
a like-to-click ratio,
a saved post across timelines.
my words are used to being weighed
in golden showers of praise
by would-be strangers,
by eyes almost in a daze
from the internet and its dangers;
my words are more than happy
to be forgotten the next day -
they get that from me.
what happens when your words
fail to tip the scales
in any direction?
what happens when measuring fails,
and the mercy of others
is your only salvation?
what happens when your words decide
that their life is not one worth living?
if a heart breaks
and bleeds words onto a paper,
but no one reads them,
did it really break?
if words spill onto a page,
but no one saw them being spilt,
was a poem even written?
scary breakdowns resulted in me not posting every single poem in napowrimo. I salute those who can, and revere the ones who don't care. but most of all, i am jealous of those who get away with it.
if a tree falls in a forest, but no one hears the sound, did it really fall?
