onlysweetpea
Bluelighter
I write poems in a group of three or four that come,
like a flurry of rushed words and probably bad grammar.
Then it stops almost as quickly as it comes.
I go through them a week later
and want to throw them away.
There was a time when I believed
that it was easy.
And it still is.
It’s just bringing it to the light
Like catching yourself naked
standing near an open window.
I’ve wasted too much time swallowing my words.
Some thoughts may be too heavy to carry.
That’s where the poems come from.
When I remember,
when the eyes of suspicion look past
the glitter and gleam
to see me, sitting inside of myself,
trying to work out what is real
and what I made up in my head.
Most likely, I won’t have an answer for you
when you ask me what I’m doing.
Sometimes when I write, I fear something tragic may be happening in my brain
without me.
like a flurry of rushed words and probably bad grammar.
Then it stops almost as quickly as it comes.
I go through them a week later
and want to throw them away.
There was a time when I believed
that it was easy.
And it still is.
It’s just bringing it to the light
Like catching yourself naked
standing near an open window.
I’ve wasted too much time swallowing my words.
Some thoughts may be too heavy to carry.
That’s where the poems come from.
When I remember,
when the eyes of suspicion look past
the glitter and gleam
to see me, sitting inside of myself,
trying to work out what is real
and what I made up in my head.
Most likely, I won’t have an answer for you
when you ask me what I’m doing.
Sometimes when I write, I fear something tragic may be happening in my brain
without me.
