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A wannabe awash in metaphors. Seventeen. Pianist, among other things. Eternal runner-up. Cat slave. Jellyfish enthusiast!

Lots of poetry with big pretty words because I am nothing if not extravagant

Message from Writer

I want to someday create something good enough to justify staring at blank documents until my brains ooze out my nostrils, so here’s where I work towards that
"How strange it is to be anything at all"

in frame

April 6, 2019


When I finally got the certificate back the question was:
Wall or shelf? I answered, wall.
I asked nothing of first-class honours, wanting to accept
not everything reading perfect distinction.
Then why do my hands still shake? The question used to be:
When is the performance? I answered, over.
On nights that never ended, it took a while to contemplate
How come I can’t sleep? They answered, try harder.
And I took it to heart, and now I sweat for another certificate
Something else to hang in a frame.
I try to take them with me, but no windows look the same
as the ones my eyes won’t seem to leave.
When sostenuto dies, when originality fizzles, the question is:
Will you ever be satisfied? I answer, I don’t know.


See History
  • April 6, 2019 - 6:23pm (Now Viewing)

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