I live words, I breathe words, I am made of words.

Message to Readers

I actually wrote this poem out a few months ago, but I never really got around to putting it here. I've made a few changes to fit WTW's format, so it's not the original version. Please tell me which parts you liked and which parts you think could be improved! Thank you!


October 27, 2018



People. On the bus. 
Doing different things. 
Glued to their phones. Or a book. More the former than the latter.
Headphones plugged into the sockets they call "ears"
Pumping music, that electric flow, into their comp--I mean, brains
Talking, or pushing out sonic frequencies that carry
A meaning that I'm not parry to.
Human behaviour confuses me.
They are just
Lumps of flesh and bone
Connected by their tendons, made of "hopes" and
"Dreams". And yet, I stare at. Boarding, getting off.
Shutting themselves out, completely.
And, somehow, behind their mask of
They live lives richer than I can imagine.
Slowly, they weave, skilfully or unskilfully, but weaving all the same,
Their lives of love, loss, friendship, betrayalHATRED, among
Other things
They prick and they are pricked,
Over and over again.
Where it will lead, I don't know.
All I know is
Oh, my stop. It's here.
And I go to my life,
Which a stranger can only imagine when he stares at me. 


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1 Comment
  • paperbird

    Great poem. Just wrote a review, hopefully it should come to you in a few days.

    over 2 years ago