I try to write a poem
but all I hear is music
as I write, the words slip from my colorful mind to the tip of my tongue, I hum
my notepad is full of sparkling notes and tones
ink stains on every goddamn page
hands longing for piano keys, I hear the bow strokes
every finger on each string, a honey sweet song
girl, come on
let it go, write a poem
I try to write poetry but it turns into songs
tell a story, a feeling
put bleeding hearts on blank paper spaces, embrace it
maybe the only ones who will ever like my poems
can all hear the music
My poetry’s bad and I blame it on you. How am I supposed to write like Sylvia Plath when all I have in my sight this dark velvet night, is your caramel cream colored eyes.
You say put down the pen, hon’. Slip in your laces, let’s go all your favorite places, let’s put some dollars on the races.
I’ll chase you, race you, through the small town firelike twilight, you’re the highlight, darling, sippin’ on that sparkling white crystal.
If I wasn’t so fucked up I think I’d write about every little thought on my mind. Let you see it all. Light it up baby, let it shine like a million dollars worth of diamonds on every corner of my chaotic mind. All the flaws and all the scars, all the fucked up compulsive thoughts.