I write poetry…
actually that’s an over statement
I write three lines that rhyme and the rest are my thoughts falling on the page trying to fit into place, fighting to all come out at once. I don’t really write poetry I write my mind . Endlessly filling the pages with unfinished sentences and statements
I write stories. Stories of people I’ve met and the places I’ve been. I write imperfectly , never ending, intricate with the great explicitness of a narration , I can’t tell you how these stories end because I part ways with the people and places. But a new story begins and it starts with you…
You write poetry, not the ones that rhyme and not the ones on paper. You write them in the way your voice caress’ my ears, you write them in your touch and the way you care. You write them when you walk, I read them in the lines on your hands and see them in your face as you smile and I am fascinated, infatuated by the way YOU write your poetry
So if I ever decide to write poetry it will be in the way my hair falls on my shoulders and the way my pen touches the paper when I draw. It will be in the tapping of my feet to the music filling my ears playing on full volume. If i ever decide to write poetry it will be in the way my hand fits perfectly in yours, the way my heart beats rhythmically when I’m with you and the way my eyes slowly close when you make me smile.
Ps. This is not a poem