since i wrote a poem. i used to do it every day. then i quit.
4:15
My jaw.
My fist.
My heart.
Clenched, wrenched, drenched with ticking, tocking
The clock not stopping.
How are you?
I cried.
Are you ok?
I lied.
A word not heard, not said.
Felt.
Not felt. Lived. Had. Beaten. Sad.
Wasted on words. On thoughts. On help.
Needing a reason. Apart from self.
Drunk on fears. Sober on tears.
How are you?
I'm fine.
Are you ok?
In time.
Keeping my head above
the draining water of love.
Of pride. Of tried. Of times gone by.
I am the past. Today won't last.
Tomorrow, we'll see.
Just ask.
4 comments:
I'm glad you unquit writing poetry. Like how I create words? The beauty of being a writer. It's a gift you have. Share it.
And by gift I mean poetry, not your va-jay-jay. Though that, too, is most certainly a gift.
wow! nice poem. writing poetry is indeed like riding the bicycle. you can just never unlearn it.
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