recently, poems have taken over.
at night, i can't sleep, tossing over a line until i can work out its rhythm. i wake up to lyrics in my head.
i love it.
today, i dropped by my house to pick up some clothes and i found an old notebook of mine, probably from 10th or 11th grade, filled with old poems, old thoughts. i spent all afternoon leafing through, remembering how complicated my feelings were back then, and how hard it was to find the words...
then i thought about now. how complicated my feelings are, and how hard it is to find the words and i realized nothing has changed-- or rather-- i haven't changed. at first, this thought saddened me. in three years, i'm still so emotionally stunted, so unable to express myself that i have to rely on poems. will i ever move past that?
but then i realized, i don't *rely* on poems the way i did then, unable to understand myself without my poet mask.... these days, i trust them.
i trust poetry to speak for me. |
