Nov 27
1 min read
The Poet Bleeds
I tried so hard to block the pain of poetry
I wrapped each word around my fingers
they somehow kept me warm at night
but now empty words run down the sewer
leaving me feeling invisible.
It’s as if I wrote
not one word
at all.
A year
with no words.
A page
with no scribbles.
It’s as if
I have been erased
deleted
and I no longer exist.
I tried to block
the pain of poetry
but I can tell you this —
it is not rare to sense
the joy of each hummingbird,
the illusion of each rainbow,
or how deeply the poet bleeds.
Grace notes: there is more to my story and in time, the truth will unfold.
© Connie Song 2022. All Rights Reserved.
