28.05.22
01:33
You ask if I'm always as sad as my writing seems and I'm not sure of the answer. Maybe I do wear melancholy as my daily suit. Maybe when you're a poet it becomes your uniform. But I can tell you I will always be wearing socks that go against the rules. Dress coded for the mismatched combinations littered above my toes in the real world but I think all I really know are the poems that extend themselves from my being. There's a self-awareness that keeps hold of my fingers and I am grateful for the tight grip that reminds me that happiness lives in a separate place to my poems, and that it's okay for it to be like this. One day I'll be able to write from the warmth and do it justice. Right now, I am not sure how; blame it on a broken synapse or that I haven't done my laundry either. I will get it later when she grips my hand tighter and pulls me into the light. I know it will happen one day. I am patient. I'll always wait.
YOU ARE READING
words don't come that easy.
PoetryI've tried. but i've always failed to contain these thousand words in a few sentences, maybe im bad at expressing macro feelings in the few words that I'm limited to. you might think you know me enough because it's been a long time since i first wav...
