I’m gonna be honest here:
I’m not a good poet cause my pen is possessed, my mind is a mess
I don’t have a rhythm and I don’t like to rhyme if it hinders my thoughts.
I have a storm that makes me go in circles and trip
and sometimes the wind picks me up so I know how it’s like to drift,
even when I’m strapped with a seat belt in a car going straight.
I don’t like it when words taste like metal,
or when they sound like plastic
and for some reason I’m noticing this more and more often—
It’s hard to see invisible words in the air.
I don’t mean to seem like I don’t see you either,
cause everything’s a fast blur ’til I’m in my place
I apologize for each and every time you’re pushed away
by a gust of wind…
The turbulence of bottling in,
trying to keep my lines even.
But the thunder doesn’t roll, it implodes
and my pen seems to move on her own
But maybe that’s because I’m in denial.
I know my pen’s true self when it’s just the two of us
She’s the most insane and frightening I know.
She rides with the clouds, no matter how dark
and doesn’t use proper grammar sometimes...
So I don’t always get what she says and why.
Cause she carries a glass filled over the top,
can’t help but repeat herself to herself
and would write in all caps like a slop...
Well she can say a ton of words that are otherwise numb,
And she can loudly scream without any sound.
But whenever she stops and falters,
I’d either hear the buzzing of words getting tangled up
or the crushing deep vacuum of outer space
And I’d remember that me and my pen are just like the same,
My reflection’s right here on the page.
And then I always have to clean up her mess so you can read it.
And it does seem to take a while longer
But it’s disappointing how it’ll never turn out just the way I want it to be.
There’s still a million other words that you just cannot see,
I cannot put two different sentences on top of each other if they don’t make sense anywhere else
And then there are things that just don’t fit anywhere at all.
And so I spend too much time trying to think of how to fill in the holes
so you don’t fall through
But I cannot fill in every one of them...
So I’d really love if I could just write out of the lines and
be able to see those invisible words in the air and
to never again find myself saying words that taste like metal.
Especially during times like this when when I’m terrified that you’d miss something important.
~ + ~