Write drunk, edit sober
they say,
Hemingway, I believe.
Because the real you isn’t enough
until your psyche is good and
muddled.
Spit it out while the barriers are down.
#nofilter
today.
Just get it out
shout it loud
and don’t worry about the crowd.
For those you know are the ones that matter
and those you don’t are the ones who judge.
It they don’t like it
it’s no harm,
no foul.
Who needs editing
anyhow?
When I was younger, I used to write A LOT of poems.
(I know, I know, who hasn’t?)
Today is World Poetry Day, so I was inspired and thought it would be fun to try again. I really enjoyed the process–crafting ideas, turning complex thought into singular imagery, selecting just the right words.
I’m no poet laureate, this was done just for myself and it felt good to read the finished project.
A few words that are all me.
I think I might work on this hobby for a while to see what I can come up with.
Quite appropriate that this showed up on my Timehop today of all days.
Be still my heart <3
I’ve moved on, I say.
Carrying on
day-by-day.
Cranking up white noise
drowning out the humming,
pesky fly.
An ever-stealthy alarm
palpates, murmuring
I’m still here
don’t go
this story has more pages yet.
Muzzled and corked
time marches forth
creating new pinholes
and releasing the warmth
teasing the promise
of an age without storms.
You’re so strong, they say.
So proud of how you
stayed the course.
And still–
Dampened laughter masks
constrained affection.
A parasitic shadow with the mass
of a dozen years
laces the outline of my smile.
Tormented by a certain shade of pink
until the ties of words and tears
have ruptured.
I’m fine, I say.
Just another day.