Breathe a Little
Breathe a little, and maybe you will see,
that the words inside a poem do not define me.
These are words on a page with no intentions,
nor anything to hide from the reader.
I do not have a duty to create comprehension,
nor make reading any easier.
Language is a bittersweet grape,
sometimes tangy and sometimes sour.
Because language is words, it can create,
but it also can devour.
Speaking is a delicate thing,
and Over-thinking comes with it.
But writing down the Untrimmed thoughts,
presents a Tangled web.
You write and write, and all your thoughts,
are those upon the pages.
You forget you’re sitting down at some point,
and might have been sitting for ages.
Writing can reduce a train-of-thought to a junkyard,
and yet I feel the need to write, I feel it within my heart.
Once I breathe a little, I realize,
that whimsical words are not a definition
of someone who felt like writing;
and sometimes one’s rendition,
can be both overwhelming and inviting.
And the only way I can breathe in a taste of my own thoughts,
is if I sit down and write a story without the intentions of a plot.
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