mark told me to entry 2!
another oldie that has no date on my paper...good job jess
I wish words spilled out of me
as easily as I pretend they do
when in actuality I can't seem to write
a single line of substance
This lie makes people think I'm some prodige
This fascade has people convinced that writing is MY art
and that I will study it and be successful and
live their dreams
It was a mask I never inteded to put in place.
I've come to accept it myself
but I'm not ready to tell the world
that I feel like a fraud
who pretends that they understand words
when words really cannot be understood
because they are just letters
thrown together to express an author's
fears and
doubts and
passions and
desires.
words cannot simply be defined by other words
they just are.
A writer is supposed to be able to look at that
drinkable pink lemonade sunset
and immediately come up wit thousands of perfect words
yet all I can do is freeze frame and admire.
So I'm not really a writer
I'm certainly not anything special
I'm just one of the near-silent palm leaves
watching the sun set over that pink beach
whispering goodbye to dreams.
And now for the most recent one....it's short...unfinished of course...I really want to add more but I haven't figured out the right words yet...but here is is:
Lungs don't fail me now
c'mon keep on breathing
I can only hold my breath for so long
The tight ache in my chest
is wasting time I cannot spare
The constriction has kept me pinned to the ground
gasping
But it's time to take a deep breath
And depend on only me
to keep me breathing
I wish words spilled out of me
as easily as I pretend they do
when in actuality I can't seem to write
a single line of substance
This lie makes people think I'm some prodige
This fascade has people convinced that writing is MY art
and that I will study it and be successful and
live their dreams
It was a mask I never inteded to put in place.
I've come to accept it myself
but I'm not ready to tell the world
that I feel like a fraud
who pretends that they understand words
when words really cannot be understood
because they are just letters
thrown together to express an author's
fears and
doubts and
passions and
desires.
words cannot simply be defined by other words
they just are.
A writer is supposed to be able to look at that
drinkable pink lemonade sunset
and immediately come up wit thousands of perfect words
yet all I can do is freeze frame and admire.
So I'm not really a writer
I'm certainly not anything special
I'm just one of the near-silent palm leaves
watching the sun set over that pink beach
whispering goodbye to dreams.
And now for the most recent one....it's short...unfinished of course...I really want to add more but I haven't figured out the right words yet...but here is is:
Lungs don't fail me now
c'mon keep on breathing
I can only hold my breath for so long
The tight ache in my chest
is wasting time I cannot spare
The constriction has kept me pinned to the ground
gasping
But it's time to take a deep breath
And depend on only me
to keep me breathing