i've always had this fear that one day i'll be staring at a blank page and no words will come to me. idk i guess that's my worst nightmare--having every emotion imaginable bubbling and bottled inside of me with no way to uncork them. there's more reasons why i don't want to stop writing, or lose the way i write, but the poem gets into that lol :)) it's by no means perfect, and it certainly isn't written to "wow" anyone, but it organized my thoughts and that's enough.
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what if i run out
of words,
and my fluffed pillow
flattens into a spill tray
for the heavy ink tears
my heart couldn't hold,
my pen couldn't spill.
what if i fall apart
like a paper crane
when pushed out
into the water,
sinking
because it's not made
for anything real,
because my stanzas
were what separated me
from the harsh drowning
of reality,
kept me afloat
because all i am
is thin sheets of paper
purposefully folded
into someone
of fiction,
someone who would
disintegrate
as soon as the words
i've spent years finding
leave me
like burning fireflies
escaping from the mason jar,
trickling into the
warm, bubbling night,
and then i would be
no one
and nothing at all.
who am i
when i have nothing
to say?
who am i
when i'm kneeling
in a pool of ink
rich and dark
with all the words
it could've been?
who am i
when i'm wordless
and perpetually aching
like an abandoned violin
coated in more dust
than varnish,
its time-warped, wooden hollow
swelling silently
with all the music
it still holds
even as the dead sleep on
and there's no one left
to pick up the bow
and let the sound
wash over the room
like viscous honey?
love,
mari
YOU ARE READING
for the tarnished hearts
Poetrypoetry for the hearts tarnished by love or the sudden death of it. for the hearts that find a soft lullaby in the pages when raw hope is not enough to put the worries to sleep. for the hearts that bleed ink to paint the chalky roses of life red with...
