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