They ask me what's
there to slow down for,
They tell me writing's all
just words and paper;
It's always about the nerd
and a bully, dancing beneath the moonlight, flowers and love letters.
63 of you who read this,
let me tell you a little secret
It's not about the bully and the nerd
It's not about the moon light or the love letters;
I see writing the way I hold a hammer
Everything just turns into nails
I hold a pen and everywhere I see a plot, I see papers.
My keyboard only runs for two
reasons, they show up when someone says "Stop" and when they say "Go";
That's how it is when the paper
appears in front of you
You get trapped in a way you don't see the sun go low.
As an author, I confess it's too
difficult to come up with a plot
As a person, I confess this world is a plot itself;
I've seen too many characters,
There are too many people passing by my shelves.
YOU ARE READING
Poems From Puerto Verde
PoetryDuring this pandemic, we find more time removing each layer of our identity. The deeper we look out our windows, more stars appear. Our hair grows longer and longer. Everyday is spent like a time loop. As Milan Kundera says in "The Unbearable Lightn...
