The Poet In Me

9 Apr

there is a poet behind these eyes
winding up the key to my heart
so it tick tick ticks
I catch glimpses of her in old photographs
and in the mirror sometimes on Wednesdays
when the light is just right
when I close my eyes at night
I don’t see her
but she talks to me in verse
and if she speaks loudly enough
I say, “ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT”
and I get out my notebook and pen
and sketch it all out as fast as I can

by the time I am done, I am no longer tired
but at least I can finally sleep

wpid-imag0354.jpg

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