pogo stick
i write because if i did not write i would die
and if i did not feel that way i would not write at all
and if i could not live through the words that flow out of my fingers
i would not be so terrified to die without my words, without my paper
its in the language that i find love
en anglais ou francais, je me regarde.
its the jumping from angle to angle on a single sheet of paper
or a single screen that i may be happy for one moment
in that blank line between stanzas, my soul sleeps
and where would i be without my words?
its the pause between a line
when there was no comma no period no punctuation (thus no pause)
that my breath stops to interrupt the reader
and poetry is meant to be read outloud
but its just to hush ourselves and silently sooth our souls
with its discipline, with its free spirit;
stop living. start experiencing.
its in these words that i escape.
i am not breaking or invisible
i am strong and permanent while my thought is in seperate lines
seperated occaisonally, by punctuation
i know for sure that i am real
and waiting for my pen to take me somewhere new.
c’est ma facade