A Poet’s Pen To Paper

you know I’m not a poet not a natural
one anyway when I was younger I swore by pros fantastic story smothered with the
idea of finally finding something worth writing about before I lost my muse
under 100 misses and mental breakdowns still I haven’t quite learned how to
give up the period yet but that’s beside the point
you know I’ve been dipping my toes into the deeper waters of stanzas and
metaphors, enjambents of unfinished lines all because I’ve said I love you 1
million times but I know my protagonist has only just scratched the surface of
what it means to love you just graze the bulletproof vest of my heart held
hostage by her armor for years I wanted to undress this thing
shy and shaking insecure like the 12 year old girl unable to raise her hand
in class that was me by the way but you know that you know I’m not a
poet but did you know that when all I want is home I can’t write a scene of my
front door my bedroom a patio instead I step into that album I know you can’t
stand the one I’ve had on repeat for 11 months just because half the songs
remind me of you did you know when I stumble into bed with a head waging wars
against its own shadow and my pillowcase is made of blood sweat and fears I think
of you in stanzas in Polaroids picked from a scrapbook of every time you have
touched me poets pen to paper it made me I noticed first did you know that every
time you read a poem and say how did they know exactly what happens in my
brain I reread the lines 1 million times because I would kill to know the inside
of your mind I want a PhD in your thoughts and I’ll
write a thesis on every single one of your favorite poems to get my degree
just watch me you know I’m not a poet but somehow I’ve
become one for you

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