The cringe lines that makes you
Gag and sick to your stomach,
The pretty little words
And the heart dragging truth
Racing towards you,
Picking up run, beat, heart, boom, boom
The eye roll, and the edge of a Clift
You hanging on, the comfort Disgusting
It gives, the loneliness and full feeling
It leaves and bags it helps you carry,
The weight
And the motivation you wait for it
Like a friend and disappointed when
Not shown up, but brush off the pang
That you walk under the air not quit
Clear,
Poetry is not for me
Because most time it doesn't wait for me
To say go,
It just jumps-
In the ocean of blank paper
Or Disappearing through the screen,
Of an eye
Typing, writing without no destination
Sometimes
Just thoughts,
And anger,
Pain,
And grieve,
And observation
And clownness,
And what
And confusion,
What is the meaning
Yet Doesn't always have to mean,
Something-
And there just there
Sitting—
Relief
Content
And then delete or
Just forgotten somewhere in the universe
Hopefully some next generation would,
Maybe read it when old apps,
Upgrade and the paper becomes wrinkle,
With years of life buried deep inside
Within those words within the ink,
So poetry is for me.
-ashes poetry
