Words
have been slipping
from my fingers
today.
I try to catch
them
and weave them
into lines of poetry
but the string
breaks
and the letters bounce
away,
pearls on marble floor,
scattering across the room.
I have to get on all fours
and run my fingers through dark corners and
the cracks
behind
doors.
Mostly, I meet dust,
but when I find one,
I wipe it clean and keep it
in a purse - velvet lined.
Some, I keep in the shell of my mouth,
gently laying them under the blanket
of my tongue
till they ooze flavours of
nectar and bee-sting
taste buds blossom and
I pick the flowers and
string them into a garland
that I tuck behind my ear
so I can hear the petals
whisper.
This is how
I am learning
to speak in flowers,
my own tongue.
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About the Poem
Today, I was losing words and lines, and mood and time. I felt like I couldn't write. Previously, I'd write poems in my head before I put them on paper. In the past week, I have tried to let myself write incomplete things and explore ways to create something with them. It has been a thrilling process, although most times challenging.
Today, I started with this feeling of losing words and inspiration. I pictured it and then followed the lost words to make meaning. And maybe it is not as thought out as my other writing, maybe not even as creative, but for me it is progress, because it means I can sit down to write without already bringing the poem or the words to the table, but let them come to me, wherever I am then; let them whisper in my ear and then create of, and with, them
Also, I'm clearly obsessed with flowers and blossoming, huh?
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Thanks for reading!