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Literature Text
I like to write my words down on post-it notes
in barely legible print.
Writing the words so closely together
that you hardly know where one word ends and the other begins.
Making each small page seem like a giant secret
that should be stored away in drawers and at the bottom of my purse.
Do not read these messy notes,
for they hold too much of me.
in barely legible print.
Writing the words so closely together
that you hardly know where one word ends and the other begins.
Making each small page seem like a giant secret
that should be stored away in drawers and at the bottom of my purse.
Do not read these messy notes,
for they hold too much of me.
Literature
Silence
Silence deafens
It screams at me from blank walls so I fill them with photographs
So they’ll seem less empty, and so will I
Silence welcomes
When the world is just too loud and too chaotic and too restless
And all I want in this moment is quiet
Silence echoes
From the depths of the empty beer bottles that line my bedside table
They promised fulfillment or at least escape the night before
Silence lies
It tells me that I am not good enough for a house filled with love
The kind that comes from the heart of a man
Silence comes
The moment I lay my child’s sleepy head to rest and surround her with pillows
So that she may never know
Literature
Into the Rain
Your presence teases me,
Makes me believe that I see you
Out of the corner of my eye,
Standing in the alleyways,
Or hiding behind bookshelves.
I see a glimpse of you,
And then you're gone,
Shoulders fading from view.
Something makes me follow,
Rush to where I saw you
And look wildly for another sign
That you're still here.
I follow you through storms,
Rain so fierce it's almost blinding,
Chasing your smile only
For you to turn away and disappear
Each time I think I've found you.
When I finally catch up with you,
Just when I can't go any further,
You're somewhere I can't reach you;
You're with people I don't know,
Perched high on a balcony,
Or
Literature
| processing and thinking
You know when you're writing a poem and you don't like what you typed
you can hit the backspace key
and back goes the space until you are satisfied with the outcome
but what is satisfaction when just a moment ago you had something to say
and now that one key has taken it away?
But then suddenly you have something better to type
maybe worded in a better way
and you're so happy as your fingers hit the keys
your thoughts spilling out onto the page like liquid
until you read your new, revised version and the outcome is not what you expected
when the mood is not set correctly
and the expected impact of your words becomes rejected
Not only a
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Not sure if this would count as a poem, but I really liked it once I'd written it down. Funnily enough, I typed this instead or physically writing it down.
© 2011 - 2024 LestatMalfoy
Comments9
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Hi there! Just a note to let you know that I've featured this piece in my journal