Thursday, August 13, 2009

day 24: The Prologue

grab the closest book to you...

Go to the first page and find the 12th word (that world is the title of your poem)
-Then turn to page 52 of the book, look up the 9th sentence and that sentence will be your first line.
-Then write from there"


“It was one of those werid things that no matter how much I thought of it I couldn’t come up with an answer”…

Where did we begin?

Why does this ink seems to sink further than my own veins in my skin

And why can’t I help but ask questions that I don’t want the answers to?

I was born with a pen in my hand

A split heart that made it easy to give away

I call myself broken, but only when im sure someone is looking

You see, In the dark

I don’t even exist

And this is just a prologue

The pretence


Means nothing except to know how its started and ended and my ending’s blank

So here’s the birth..

Language isn’t something to learn

Its something to love

So hold it like your dying grandmother

Like you son

Hold ink in your veins for when you’ve forgotten a pen

And sometimes

Slit your wrist just to see what it looks like

What kind of poem it writes

You see


Isn’t something to hold

Its something to give

So write a poem for every stranger you witness

And every lover you kissed

Write a poem for every day you missed

Give each poem a name and fly them on kite to show god how he’s made too many mistakes walking around empty handed

Language isn’t something to make

Its something to feel

So the next time you are lonely

Crack open one of your scars and let it speak about the poem in your head for the stranger standing at the corner

Speak of how her smile makes you want to cry and how you imagine what her breathe might taste like when she shares her story

Love, give, and feel your way back to feeling

And pray

that the ending will end up at least half as fulfilling as the pretence

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