I just want to keep writing
Find solace in words that are static.
Tunes that are rhythmic.
Songs that are poetic
To create.. life.. joy
Feel sad.. and feel happy
Engage with chemicals that bubble inside, logic that has died
I know, I do, I don’t really, it’s hard
These words just come, and they’re here to die, to pass
Why am I doing this; what is making me do this.
Alcohol, let it vibrate, let it stir your soul.
I’m not drunk but it feels like I am
These words inside me don’t have a grammar, no structure
But they have a soul, hope, light, brightness at the beginning of the end.
I don’t want to stop writing. Moments like these are hard to come by, but they happen a lot more often these days
And as my words turn into paragraphs I stop and say, why stop here.,
Let me keep writing, let the words lead my way.
I stopped to read, this seemed really long. I felt sad it ended so I decided to carry on.
Why do tenses change in the same narrative. What does it mean.
If there is meaning will you be free.
Is there a joy in the pursuit, or do you want to reach
A place that you always wanted to go to, but never wanted to breach.
Breach? My words fail me, my soul is hurt. A rhythm that vibrates upon this earth.
This is hard. This is magic. Tragic but fuck logic.
There’s way too much traction in abstraction. But my soul is here to stay. Don’t make it go away.
Because it won’t. Not from this world. But from you.
For the soul is fragile. It gets hurt. But only to bounce back and produce words.
Words. Thoughts. Actions.
Meaning. Empathy. Love.
This feels good. This feels great. Is this poetry. I don’t think so.
Poetry has a rhyme scheme. And identities and metaphors and personalisation.
That’s what I’ve been told
By my teachers who have grown old
Let met appreciate things. For what they are. Appreciate me for who I want to be.
We try and we fail. Humans are unique. We are unique. Our stupidity makes us unique.
Our imperfections. Our flaws. Our autocorrect in a sea of logic.
Filled with suchness. Let it be.
Hitting roadblocks along the way. Words fail me but they’re here to stay.
Through the passage of kings and Queens, of mortals who attain immortality
Through words and through poetry.
I am a soul. And I will be.