poetic letdown
it’s easier to write your own poetry than it is to read others’ poetry. and yet, where are my poems?
Letters, Alive
saved, silenced, spoken, sung — stated and signed
Letters, Alive
The scribbles in my journals, the ink on pastel sticky notes dotting my walls, the one-line notes on my phone, the words of others remembered and collected like priceless ocean pearls by my reaching hands, to their speakers merely grains of sand on a beach of passing thoughts
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