a love poem, she thinks to herself.
a love poem, a love poem, a love poem.
she taps her pencil on her notebook page three times, biting her lip.
love. what does that word even mean?
she taps her pencil again.
a noun? a verb? lovely is an adjective. i suppose it could be anything, depending on the context.
erase, erase, erase.
no, no, no, she thinks, that's not what this means at all. love is different that that. love is...
she drops her pencil.
what...what is love?
suddenly, her brain can't stop moving. words spill onto the page like an ink pot. she writes of her family, friends, the girl in history class who always wears her hair in braids, the boy who makes her stomach twist and turn with both delight and fear.
some people love science, chemistry, formulas. others love art, painting, graphite. even more love writing, just like her. they love poetry, prose, how words flow and dance across the page like beautiful ballerinas.
the girl slams her pencil down, chest heaving, smile wide, admiring her work with glossy eyes.
she rereads the prompt.
no, she thinks. that's not what this prompt means at all. where's the romance? where's the chemistry?
she bites her lip, and tears out the page.
erase, erase, erase.
YOU ARE READING
escapril 2019
Poetryescapril was created by the lovely savannah brown in which you write something, anything, every day of april inspired by the prompts. here is what i created. 🌷💐
