I'm prepared to bare my soul,
but it seems as if you already know.
I feel like words are mocking me,
and the natural, solid way of things;
this way of existing.
Words are all I have,
but they
are strangling me.
Does this make sense?
Ignore that- it doesn't matter.
In the end, it's just the
understanding
that I'm after.
Almost word for word. You don't mind if I plagiarize, do you?
It seems as if you sometimes think in poetry, and I can't help but to reshape it a little.
I like writing poetry. Not all of it is going to be a historical epic or an ode to something. These are like little glimpses of the subway in my mind; my train of thought isn't always artsy or symbolic or deep or meaningful, but I like to think that art takes ordinary things and makes people see a sort of beauty in them. So, look around- I've been doing this for a while. Enjoy ♥
1 comment:
oh thank you so much! i do think in poetry, but i never know how to write it. my favorite book is If Nobody Speaks of Remarkable Things by jon mcgregor. you should read it, i think you'd like it. it's written beautifully and poetically. beautifully poetic? yeah i think i like that better.
anyway, i also thank you very much for answering all those questions. i didn't really expect anyone to. and you're completely right... asking questions does make me morose. sometimes it's just better not to question, something i'm still trying to learn.
Post a Comment