I drank in hopes it would spill some poetry out of me. Twisting my hair against my fingertips I’m waiting for some strangers that pass to be outlined in a sign, or an answer of some sort.
I don’t answer the phone on sundays it’s a rule I have not to spread myself so thin.
Normally words come so natural to me I can’t condense them or keep them in.
Sometimes, most of the time truthfully all I’ve got is heart shaped doodles, my name, a shape collage.
Sometimes all I am is drawer full of bitten pens.
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April Marks
Authentic & Uncanny.
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Post traumatic
Hearing a car door slam still makes me jump. Hiding behind these sunglasses at the local corner diner I’ll probably die in this exact position just somewhere else.Pens on napkins and lipstick stained coffee mugs 12:00pm has a special place in my heart. How many sidewalks have you crossed just to show up late, or for a date with someone mediocre? God bless my mother this is the 7th time she’s called today my anxious attachment style coming at you live straight from the source. I’ve met so many people running marathons they aren’t even aware of. Sticking a smoke behind my ear I can meet you two blocks from here probably tomorrow. -AM
By April Marks2 years ago in Poets
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