When no one is looking, words burst from my head
Inside my skull are colours, scents and sounds
And my life is played out to a relentless sonorous soundtrack

Sometimes the music collapses with waves of resonance
And in others it is plucked like strings, individual and soft
It’s perceived by my inner ear, it’s not for others to hear

When I am out of sight, I’m truly at my very best
For life is like a swirling whirl of different shades
Different shapes and forms, some almost difficult to perceive

I try to put these on paper, shape the thoughts that I have
But the best, these arrive in the depth of the gloom
And in the early morning, they are once again forgotten

These words that slip through the fingers of my recollection
Flowing with the brightest of sparks, glowing embers of ideas
Impressions lost in the falling mornings sunlight

In front of my keyboard I then sit, puzzled chin in hand
Fingers tap the keys and yet nothing of excellence appears
So another day, with the words remaining inside my head

I hope one day to be read
by a scholar
the careful counting of my lines
calculating their cadence upon some parchment,
it matters not

I hope one day to be read
by a child
swirled spirals capturing the margins as
she rewrites her own story over the words to match
the colors and dragons in her head

I hope one day to be read or
written on the back of some hand
a wishful keepsake for a day
inspiring some great thoughts
or little ones, at least–Perhaps!

Perhaps
I’ll never be read
by some insightful stranger or
inspire grandiosity at all

instead
conserve unspoken words
by ink to paper

--
c

Will we ever talk again?
The question circles in my head.
I ruined my only chance.
Will the romance be only in my head?

Will we ever talk again?
It’s something hard to answer.
Did I lose what we once had?
Now that’s something hard to answer.

Will we ever talk again?
Would he even really want to?
If we happened to bump into each other,
Is it something he’d even really want to?

Will we ever talk again?
Is the answer yes or no?
If yes, I’m broken. If no, I’m broken.
Does the answer have to be yes or no?

Will we ever talk again?
Maybe It’s a choice I must make.
I will walk up to him and say “Hello,”
For it’s a choice I must make.

...I got my writer’s spirit amputated a year back

Doctor Perfectionism said it was a lost cause
Dead weight
Heavy like an anvil resting on my brain
The anvil of the hardy wordsmith I used to be

Nurse Inspiration was the one who removed it
With a scalpel
Sharp like a fox’ teeth plunged in my head
The fox that used to whisper clever plays on words to me

Mortician Motivation buried it deep underground
In a coffin
Shut like the gateway to my mind now is
The gateway that used to unroll a red carpet in front of my feet

For all intents and purposes, it should be gone
I would never write another word
But then what is this feeling?
This itch?
This urge?

Is it phantom pain?

On one hand
It's one of those days
I fail to string a sentence together
But on the other
I'll form a line
And hang this old birthday banner
And celebrate
The day my head is silent

Her pen strayed on the paper.
Not a word to be penned
Her thoughts were blank
as with the paper would blend.

She sat and sat.
She wondered and wondered.
Her heart was trying
but her mind was plundered.

She would attempt for hours
but nothing would come.
Not even a slice,
not even a crumb.

She would eat, think,
and stressfully walk.
She couldn't find a cure
for her writer's block.

A writer in love....
" .............
......................
................
...........­....
....................

......................
........
......­.............................."

Note: for the poem above, ask the lover

A writer
in love
puts all
the effects
of recreational
drugs
to shame
A writer in love
levitates
A writer in love...
Oh God Have Mercy
for pen shall burn on paper