the discovery and leaving of my found poetry

It's a funny sort of thing

to change with your writing:

to grow and crinkle and smooth over just as

the words on your page do.


(poems are how we express our change, and our


they are how we interact with the world around us and

make sense of it)




In order to make sense of my change,

A To-Do List:


I'm going to put it all in a box


And only take it out sometimes, 

to think


I will not hide the cardboard,

I will not put it under the bed.

It will be out, and labeled with your name,

with a small warning sign -- 

a symbol to remind me.


But my broken poems and my pining songs,

and all of the things that were for you,


I have to turn them into things for me.


I have to write poems about the sun,

about the flowers and the moon and the way

the starry sky makes me feel.


I have to write about myself,

because I have only ever found words in others,

and poetry is not always meant to be found,

to be made out of emotions that come from within,

only when provoked.


I will not throw any of it away: 

My found poetry out of emotions too rich

and cloying.

It is a part of me.


But I will put it in a box, and perhaps

I will even move on.




I have learned,

through my words and my change,

that I have been stagnant.

That I have been stuck writing the same lines

about the same girl,

and the same sort of brokenness that comes with



I have learned,

through the stanzas stored in the notes on my phone,

that I am sad all too often.

That I have so much more to say than words 

about the same girl,

and the same sort of brokenness

that I am now letting go.

This poem is about: 


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