Like angels are playing on the strings of my vocal cords. Words that cannot remain unmoved or concealed however introverted I am.
What’s YOUR poetry?
“I’m really starting to enjoy short poems. Though you tease my taste buds with instant melody, how deliciously enticing.”
• Dirty Diapers and Complaining Husbands
Oh you know the feeling. You make yourself a cup of Joe, get back to that switch button, and for the next 8 hours or so (hey, that’s pretty modest), you’ve taken yourself a mini vacation. Where are you going? Who knows, somewhere between Character Development and Turning Points; your only problems are: screaming kids, annoyed husbands and microwaved dinners. You’ve been at that computer so long your one year old knows what a Setting is, (and it’s not from the soggy Wheaties in his diaper either). Your husband has brought over his annoying friend for company (yes, the one you can’t stand), and your nine year old has painted her face pink and red at your distracted consent. Now, I want you to pay attention now because this is important:
The writer herself (yours truly), has neither one year old or nine year old and what you’ve just read is a list of completely made up events but, the fact that you’ve spent the last two minutes glued to these words in order that you may verify this condition is reason enough to count you among the worthy so take a bow, I now present to you the following prescription:
CAUTION: If you’ve counted my every grammatical error I’m sorry but Grammatical Geeks is for another day and this prescription is not for you.
YOUR NAME HERE
WRITER ADDICTION RELIEF 500mg Tab
TAKE ONE TABLET BY WRITING/TYPING EVERY DAY FOR WRITERS BLOCK
***TAKE WITH INSPIRATION
You know the feeling
that refreshing taste of newness
the aching agony that occurs merely from having to wait
until you can see him again
the love sick hurricane in your stomach
just to hear him say your name
the sweat that hides itself beneath your fingertips
when he’s around
the sudden sense of laughter
upon seeing his face
because you know like he does
the secret that lets its guard down
upon the blinking of your eyelids
the pace of a heartbeat
when a word of kindness escapes his lips
you know it
the feeling of fresh love
like the aroma of gourmet coffee
like when the caffeine simply invites you
like the pupils of his eyes when they mentally undress you
because the kindness pouring forth from these thoughts
is strangely exhilarating
the feeling that reminds you
why you were ever single,
the masculinity of a voice
strong, and incredibly calm
whatever I could do to convince poetry that it was necessary that we speak
was a chance to breathe,
for he was a ventilator
and I just needed air.
so I rushed home just to grab a book
or pry open my diary
and hold his thoughts in my hand until my paper
bled its first period.
Over time, we got closer and I became more open
I grew out of childhood
and demanded more attention from my lover
I became jealous and obsessive with my need to be seen with him
in the classroom, in the library, and late into Open mic nights
I ate up words with the speed of speech
and wrapped alliterations
like it was oxygen.
and sipping on rhythm slow
like the stride
of a black man
It was no longer convenient to lock me away,
cover me under the flap of notebooks and journals,
it was time to come out of the closet.
I tried to stay focused really,
but paper had proved to be too cluttered
and too slow for us,
too polluted to allow the thing we’d attempted through privacy
to ever grow into what I needed
How could I allow our particular version of intimacy
to be buried by the commas and blue lines
and falling parenthesis that make up the creative world?
After all, we were in love and as such it was time for marriage
and the introduction of this relationship
into the mainstream
The way these words were so finely crafted
almost as if they wrapped themselves around my lips
and took trips inside my memories
any feeling this good has got to be a sin…isn’t it?
What I’d stumbled upon was a gift and no,
this was not a transgression of law
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