Poem, poem I wish I had you in the palm of my hand,
Sometimes I read each word, with this hunger
Devouring it, quickly
Sometimes I gaze at each word intently, looking for eyes, windows,
Maybe to the soul of the one holding down the pen
Or beating the keys
But most importantly, I’m looking at the shape of the words, the font, the way the word looks happy or sad, the feelings the word describes. The soul of the word.
Some words are thrown into the notebook, computer screen, broken iPhone screen
Fortune cookie,
You name it...
Randomly like
when babies have babies
Some words are carefully thought of,
like settled down rich folks bound by their calendar, scheduling their love making to hopefully, fingers crossed* concieve the perfect child.
However, once they end up on that page, they become their own person.
They see themselves one way, they show themselves another, maybe a reflection of their creator
But the world is free to read between the lines
Judge them
Analyze them
Or fall in love with them....
I’ve done
Most
But really for the most part reading poems is like taking.a warm bath in a cozy home,
While the bitter winter lives on
Reading poems is to go for a long walk
Away
For some
Air.
