" Let's dive . Let's dive into me ... " ,
chanted my mind .
" I can't seem to ...
get a hold of me " ,
whispered my soul .
That is it , did I know ?
That ,
there are books ,
inside me .
But ,
I cannot seem to ,
make my fingers
reach the cover .
Once or twice ,
the tips of my fingers ,
brushed the covers .
But ,
they could never ,
hold them ,
grasp them ,
twist themselves around them ,
not even one ,
not even once .
They wanted so much ,
oh , they tried so so much ,
to hand it over to my hands ,
for my hands to be carried by my arms ,
for my arms to bring them near my heart .
There is an ocean
inside me ,
but I can't dive into it .
And this is my prayer -
let me dive in myself ,
let me soak in myself ,
let me touch myself ,
let me find myself ,
let me sense myself ,
let me hold myself ,
let me , let me ,
let me , please ,
be myself .
What is the hymn to my prayer ?
" Write , write , write ",
said my voice .
But , my soul doesn't seem to harken ,
my soul doesn't seem to respond ,
my soul is ...
somewhere ...
wandering ...
it lost its way , I guess .
And , here I am ,
waiting for it ,
waiting for me .
YOU ARE READING
i n s i d e h e r b e e h i v e
Poetry" where she is the queen " At this point, my words don't even mean anything, my lines are random, my meanings are all over the place, my endings are left in the middle. I've not the slightest idea if I can compose something coherent. It all feels li...
