I hadn't sat down to write poetry since I came home from school.
I never felt motivated.
I got discouraged.
My poems wouldn't be published, no one would read them, nothing would happen, what's the point?
But as the summer continued, I reminisced back to dreams I had when I was younger.
I wanted to be a writer.
And I can BE a writer, very simply someone who writes.
Who cares where the words go?
If they touch even one person, it will be worth it.
So here for you, two as of yet untitled poems.
*the open square bracket means the words that follow are meant to be at the end of the previous line
I wasn't aware there was
God in my hands. I thought He only lived between
and in my eyes. But yesterday, the charge electrified
my fingers. I wanted to taser my heart and spread
divinity through my bloodstream.
If I could walk and write at the same time, I would pen shaky-handed
masterpieces and illegible soliloquies that soar. My mind would [continue
dropping unlikely phrases, trailing them behind as I walk home. [Punctuation
and words would leave their invisible trace, stealing the breath of [hearts that have sung
true poetry, lost words, and bled gratefully into triumphant echo.