I, last year, started writing again because the Sea Witch stole my voice.
I'm not a very good judge of where these things are gonna go.
If there's an elephant in the room, talk to it.
Don't be oppressed by my issues.
A long, wearisome slog through miles of tangled underthings.
I wear my clothes for me, not you.
I usually don't say that part because it's not the most eloquent use of my words.
Perhaps my thoughts on poetry will be expressed musically.
I am going to rock some sonnets for you tonight.
Have you been bleeding from your hellish thunder down under?
Oh no don't touch red
And then I'll be like, "Pancakes!"
What day is it again?
No one ever answers rhetorical questions and if you do, I hate you.
I would walk down the halls like the Green Mile.
I took my hand, filled with thoughts from my head and placed it, and them, on my heart.
But I am a painter, I say, a creator among you.
My poetry is pretty angsty and none of it rhymes and I don't care if you like it or not.
Do I look like Jesse Parent? There's not enough grey here.
Without a second thought I stepped forward and took a leap into the ocean.
Attempting to solve/resolve this mystery that is me.
Otherwise I'm like, nah, Netflix!
Why can't you fix anything??
Part of me wishes you could see me now: I can speak. Look at me! I'm speaking!
Screaming "Let me out!"
I'm planning on disappearing for a year or two.
You will understand why when I read it.
The men who rule the world have bullets for teeth.
I know it's easier to be vague.
Aren't you worried you will do more harm than good?
Every moment where I encourage you to move forward while clinging to your ankles
These strands are so suffocating that at times I can't breathe.
I expected you to understand; you're an adult.
I'm sick of waiting.
At least I can look in the mirror in the morning and know that I am beautiful.
(Compiled by Marianne Hales Harding)
No comments:
Post a Comment