Yesterday’s Thoughts That Won’t Make Poetry

11:36 am

my emotions are shape-shifters,

changing and charging

without warning, morphing,

taking on alien forms

I cannot fight or flee

They own me, hold me

hostage; wreck

the sanctity of being.



12:45 pm

I have a voice you cannot hear

and anyway,

I do not speak enough, or ever.

I want only to be known

by my words, written

and anonymously.

I’ll never be the great

mental-movie-maker; scene-painter,

but I can dream-tell and thought-chase.

I can word-play for an audience of one.

Some days, that is enough.



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