These words have no meaning.
A metaphor, perhaps,
an impending ice age covering the landscape while I run from the freeze.
A turn of phrase, it could be, I never wanted anything to stop my destruction, and she jumped on the grenade to save me.
A rhyme, to mark the time, the wind brings me a smile,
Thinking of you drinking in that happy place about a mile
Away from my hands, you can stand on your own and
Find a new home while I wither alone and drink my lonely tears,
I’m stuck in my fear and will be for years…
These words have no meaning, when they sit on your screen, on your printed page you read them and translate into images of your own experience
My life is my own and when I write I feel a release of captured agony,
Does it reach you?
This man is getting old, trying to find a way to keep being
I’ve found a medication that works
Strange eyes see my heart and pass judgement,
this is poetry,
this is not
this is good enough,
this is crap
you’re a good writer,
you’re a poet
you’re an imposter
and you know you don’t belong
These words have no meaning
Here I sit, a survivor of countless attempts on my life
(by my own hand)
Here I sit, a remnant of innocence twisted and stolen,
I stand, the thing that grew when a brand-new tree was broken.
These words have a meaning.
I have lived this life and I have tried to find a meaning, I have fought against all of the noise in my head, all of the hate in the world which buries my people.
I have tried to lift hearts from cages and teach birds to walk,
So their wings won’t fail them.
These words have meaning.
If you will just see
I cannot yet fly
I have only a wish to know the clouds.
If you will read these words and know my love, we may both find the wind.
I have died and come back to life
to be here
to give you this moment
I write for only one reason.
I am these words.
I have meaning.