impermanence

fifteen.

𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒖𝒑𝒐𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍𝒔 / 𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒐 𝒂 𝒑𝒐𝒆𝒕

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i have been reading poetry,
abstract concepts and people
spun into honeyed words

i have been writing poetry,
abstract feelings
spun into an ugly mess of words

i wish i could write the kind of
poetry i read, with beauty
and pain and
peace intertwined
like hands reaching out in the night

i wish words flowed out of me
like they flow out of you
but words don't come easy to me
never have, never will

i wish golden angels lived in my brain
like they live in yours, feeding me
pretty words & holding me
when i feel like screaming

when you take letters and mix them up,
beauty emerges on the other side

and when i try to imitate you,
my words drag themself out of a
burning car wreck, screaming,
black ink pain pouring out on paper

i wish to kiss your lips
and pull the poetry out of you, into me

i wish for a warm and sunny day,
sugar coating my teeth
and words flowing like a river
where angels sing for my sentences
because they are worth something

instead,
there's only this ache
of listening to too much music
and not caring enough

instead,
the angels run
and take their golden light
only for your eyes

you see, the stars burn in your eyes,
white hot heat
that calls out to me

my poetry is pain, and yours
is pain but in this way that makes it
something more important

they tell you to write about love,
and you write as if it has built a
home in your heart
and a cathedral in your bones

they tell me to write about love,
and i write as if my heart is a
broken thing
and my bones crack under the weight

they tell you to write about pain,
and you explain it with metaphors
of birds dancing on the wind

they tell me to write about pain,
and it comes out far too literal
to mean anything at all

you write about angels
as if they are your friends,
as if they wrap you in their wings
at night and fly you far away

everything is holy in your eyes
and i wish to view the world as you do,
like everything is something
and that is worth writing about

i wish, i wish, i wish.