I have scribbled across thousands of drafts
I couldn't write a sentence of absolute truth.

Words came out like a half miles of unheard words to the English language. The real reason she was so unheard of was because like her she was such a rare sight. But she's not the kind of art presented in some studio. She's the kind of art thats scribbled on side of buses, train carts, and on top of buildings because she was all I wanted to present to the world the true raw beauty of her. As if she wasn't already wanted for stealing my heart she was wanted for being scribbled upon the walls. It soon she would disappear as if she never existed until she bcame scribbled with cans upon the walls of the city thousand times more in many forms.

writing like

- a grocery list of metaphors

- for a cooking recipe instruction

- or some kind of

- shipping manifesto;

- let your deductive mind

- interpret its own flow

- since that's the one thing

- we don't naturally grow

- but if you put too much spice in that dish

- bear in mind

(x) it’s best served cold

bewildered that this text
this forgotten scribe
uplifts the feelings
i try so hard to bury inside

this scribbled stanza
relieves pressure and pain
slowly allowing me to
stop reliving the shame

words once read
in black and white
submerged in emotions
high, light, and bright

letting your painted face
in my memory vault fade
ebbing in the distance
while these words continue to invade

funny is that our feelings exist
so playful and irrational
yet followed zealously
feels greater than feels, professional

*s.q.