i dont call it poetry,

i dont call it poetry, i call it 

letting go

melting onto paper like wax,

the words heal me in a way that the body can't.

when was the last time i ached with pain?

when was the last time i felt more than what

five feet and five inches

can hold?

this vast world needs my 

letting go

it needs to shift in its' seat

it needs to be rocked, shaken

and i think i need it too

poetry is to me as sidewalks are to streets;

i am not alone.

i am not alone in this world of words and wonder

i am allowed to get lost in something besides myself.

 

 

 

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

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