some days i throw out messes of words like explosives in the middle of 1 AM to a bright screen and await a blast i know is not coming but i still pulled the pin on something.
some days i shove words into my bones and keep them there until they weigh me down like someone sewed lead into my body. it was my own doing.
some days there's nothing. no lines running through my back muscles to tighten the tension in my shoulders because i'm going to overflow soon. those days are fine.
some days i sit in front of a screen and stare because i know there are tragedies lying somewhere in my veins and i just can't dig them out. sometimes i'm afraid to.
some days i try to structure messy lip spilling onto paper but my tongue has gone quiet. i have gone still, calm. those days are ones when my typings aren't organic and blooming and bleeding. i don't mind those days.
and some days i write scribbles down near the quadratic formula because letters always made more sense to me but they don't right now because they're bleeding out a code i don't recognize and i'll decipher it later after i find x, y, and z.
some days words are just words and that's okay. and some days they're silly and frivolous and ironic. some days they are everything and nothing and the infinite possibilities lying among syllables and scratches of a pen.
YOU ARE READING
Symptoms of Starlight | Poetry
Puisi"you've been brushed by the need for something greater, your head waits for a crown." In which a girl writes down everything from 2 am thoughts to afternoon drabbles to empowering poems in hopes it all means something.
