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Literature
To Be a Poet
i.
I often find
Myself wondering,
Wondering if I
Am the proper person
To be a poet
The archetype:
Jaded, depressed
In love, heartbroken
But where am I?
ii.
Two things constant:
Love and loss
Capture minds and hearts,
Pushing for a glimpse
Through the window
I sit here,
Heart in front
Of me, a knife poised
Where do I cut
So that
The most beautiful
Words spurt into
The faces of readers,
Staining them forever?
iii.
To give my
Anger direction,
But at what?
The obvious answers:
My father,
The world,
What was, is
Or will be
iv.
Poet. Noun.
One who spills
Blood with ink.
Is that not enough?
Literature
Echoes
She handed me an empty notebook
a pill bottle
and a ballpoint pen.
"Here. I can't carry them anymore."
I can still hear her heart beating within them.
Literature
some things do not last.
like a black hole,
i too
was once
a star
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Guess we all kind of lie a bit, yeah?
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Comments10
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I never lie.
