you once asked me why I write so much
I said "how else will I leave a trail of quintessence?"
it's true
that mind matter is pure
and that I believe writing out all the things
that spill from the creases in our brain
can make for stunning cacophony
and for frightening symphonies.
you once asked me why I make everything
so damn complicated.
I said
"how else will I get people to try and understand me?"
the same things said in short are no fun
not to me.
just like the same life
lived in a color-coded, bubble wrapped, fenced nature
isn't living.
you once asked me what I see in love.
No.
No you asked me why I think about it so much.
I said
"how else will I lead her to me?"
Her.
Infinite as a word ever was. People dive in and don't come out for lifetimes, you know. Careful.
I dive with no gear,
and can't say that I came out unscathed.
Her.
Like a word that you feel proud to say. If you have a her in your life you have a piece of God that takes you to coffee shops and proof reads your overly complicated poems and holds your hand when you can't breath.
you once asked me why I write so much.
I said
"how else can I tell you I love you?"
YOU ARE READING
Poems from a Muddled Soul
PoetryI love poetry, and that's an understatement. So here are a few poems I've written about everything and anything. Let's hope I don't do literature any injustice : ) - Pooja
