The words are lured out of my throat,
Ripped forcefully from my mouth.
The sentences are snatched from my brain,
Poured out into the pages.
The paragraphs are grabbed from my hands,
Etched out in notebooks,
Mixed together with emotion and pain,
Drawn out into the open and slammed down onto the paper.
This is how I write,
With stolen words and sentences,
With feelings and sorrow.
One big messy world of oddities.
I liked the symbolism in this poem, it’s something I’ve been messing around with. Also, when I say ”With stolen words and sentences” I, of course, don't mean I steal other people's work, it’s more like I feel like I have this big stash of words and phrases and sentences all stuck in my brain, all locked away in some corner. Some days these things leak out and I grab them, other days I have to sneak in and take them. So, yeah, I guess I just wanted to clarify that.