Poem
I will not write a poem.
Believe me, this is prose.
But it is abrupt. And before I can say this in its entreity my thoughts like waves crash and disintegrate. So all I have is foam.
Foam is poetry. It is what you want it to be.
White, transparent, naked.
Don't the feel-good-shows ask you to feel proud of your body?
So why do you wince at the word naked?
You make me laugh.
In a crowded bus when the world strips you naked it is tough to feel that proud allright.
Please don't prod into it hard.
It hurts.
And then in the dark I can hear the paper weeping.
What do I tell it?
I suggest abortion.
Kill it.
Torn and tattered she lies in the bin.
The poem or the prose..
Nobody knows. And I wont tell.
Believe me, this is prose.
But it is abrupt. And before I can say this in its entreity my thoughts like waves crash and disintegrate. So all I have is foam.
Foam is poetry. It is what you want it to be.
White, transparent, naked.
Don't the feel-good-shows ask you to feel proud of your body?
So why do you wince at the word naked?
You make me laugh.
In a crowded bus when the world strips you naked it is tough to feel that proud allright.
Please don't prod into it hard.
It hurts.
And then in the dark I can hear the paper weeping.
What do I tell it?
I suggest abortion.
Kill it.
Torn and tattered she lies in the bin.
The poem or the prose..
Nobody knows. And I wont tell.
posted by seena at 5:15 AM
5 Comments:
i scared when u r in these moods. but i also love u the most when u talk on that level
i feel more and more that i never understand poetry.
sathe wuz here.
actually, am a little too floored to leave a real comment :)
jus came in...after long...my mad pard-nerrr! you make sense t9o me like u always did...under 2 am skies
u have a blog, road tripper! one of the many songs, we heard together on my almost dead walkman!
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