π πππ'π πππππ ππππππ:
I donβt write poetry.
I write fragmented sentences.
I write repetitive sentences.
I add line breaks where I need them.
I donβt write poetry.
I write uncontrollably.
Seven weeks without a word.
Seven weeks feeling guilty.
Seven weeks pent up.
And suddenly it all spills out.
Every feeling I couldnβt vocalize
Every thought I couldnβt write
I still canβt process it.
I donβt write poetry.
But my hands start to work again
And something spills out.
I am raw
The air has been knocked from my lungs
I get punched in the stomach when I think about it
But when my finger tips become raw
Maybe something will feel alright inside.
POETRY : SOURCE
