for faking futile and laughable attempts at creativity,
when i am so obviously made to be a destroyer. even these words taste stale as i form them; repetitive, unimaginative,because what it is i have to say i am unable to.
i can’t build what i want with this concrete language when what i crave is fluidity.
but
if you were here, you could see my sideways glances, my cracking knuckles, my exaggerated laughter, how i clear my throat after turning the page in a chapter entitled "the day i burnt the coffee", and watch me losing my voice singing along to radio Aretha,
and you’d understand.
track seven being my favorite, naturally,
the sun stole my heart away and wednesday was worth the wait.
3 comments:
you do crack your knuckles a lot. :)
i miss your thoughts
I take that comment back, it sucks, on so many levels. It looks like I didn't read this, but I did, and I loved it. But there is no way to tell you, so typing this out makes me feel better.
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