knows only pencil & paper
plus
the internal diatribe that plagues me.
My truth
knows no sound save the click of the keyboard;
no sound
outside my stuttered cries.
My song
pours the only way it knows how -
voiceless
and
sorrowful -
through every vein in my body
and every word I lay down.
If you wish to know me -
know every secret breath I hold -
find it not in the vibration of my vocal chords,
but in those words I've penned.
On inspiration for this piece: This idea was pulled from Poetic Asides's 2015 April PAD Challenge: Day 13. "For today’s prompt, write a confession poem."
I find most of what I write to be a confession of sorts and often times, the only way I know how to let out what is burning me from the inside. I think I pretty much said just that a couple of days ago with "More Often Than Not."
1 comment:
Beautiful melancholy.. there is a silence so painful in your words.
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