44 drafts sit
in the back of my mind
A collection of mistakes and sad stories, untold tragedies;
My characters move around like ants,
struggling with the unfinished paragraphs, fighting insanity.
They sit here, untouched,
21 chapters with zero reads
Hours and hours turn into just a few moments;
I've got 43 drafts,
will this be the 44th?
This is another one of a writer's Death, when the last thing people think about is content.
I wrote a story of rebellion and women, I felt forced that I need to add romance
Writing felt more like an obligation;
It's agony, a thorn forced into a rose
Here's the real Dystopia, having to throw away 218 Reads, throw it all away once I face realization.
Once I press the "Publish" button,
I pray this'll not be just an addition to my drafts;
It's a person's pain to throw away what should've been their best craft.
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...
