Every once in a long, long while, I’ll take fifteen minutes and crank out a 4-verse, 16-line poem. They come easily and quickly, unlike writing fiction. For some reason, they always have the same structure: four, 4-line verses. I usually feel satisfied after writing sixteen lines.
My poetry is just a journal entry in a ball gown; it’s my real thoughts set to a beat and rhyme scheme. I write poetry when I’m frustrated and want to express myself in a quick and meaningful way.
To me, poetry feels very indulgent – like “it’s so sweet it hurts your teeth.” I tried to minimize the cheese-factor of the poem, but I still feel corny and exposed.
I’m positing it anyways because I’m an advocate for creative self-expression, which often requires a little honesty.
Not in Love
It’s strange when no one loves you
It’s freeing to be alone?
It takes strength and it takes weakness
I feel the weakness more
I can have everyone and no one
All at once but usually not at all
They walk past and I latch on
To a dream and fall
Finding love is like two kissing bullets
It takes up a small space
How will I find it?
Will he know my face?
I find my soul in music
My daydreams offer an escape
But I’ve left a river of heartache
And I’m drowning in its wake