Poetry (words)

Spores

Sunday morning melancholia oozing from my pores. Pouring from my fingertips like a billion ink filled spores. 

This desire to spill emotions onto the blank white page. Like the urge of the wild bird incarcerated in a cage. 

Untangling the tangled, these puzzles in my heart. Never knowing where they’re going or why they ever start. 

But start they do and I’ll see it through until the words run dry. I’m not here to find the answers, just the reasons why. 

Advertisements
Standard

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s