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i am writing a poem on my wrists
the words flow out easily
i can finally say all that i want
no one comes to
staunch my sentences
or
blot out my bad grammar
this time they will listen to me

but no
they come to
bandage
my imagination and
wipe away the crimson couplets that
stain
their blank-paper image of me
but the memories of my first poem remain
i won’t forget how i wrote it

they try to pump new words into my mind
words that
fight
with the still-suppressed ones
another poem boils inside me
soon it will take the same route of
escape
as the last one
there will be four memories on my wrists

this poem will be my last
again they will not understand the meaning of
my red rhymes
but i won’t be there to explain

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4 thoughts on “poetry is painless

    • ha. I was 16 when I wrote this, so who knows what I was thinking? I know I wasn’t suicidal, at any rate. Thanks for reading, and for commenting!

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