#PenAndPaperMagic

[sunnyanddumb98]

ars poetica

I didn’t exist until I took a pen. I didn’t feel until I wrote it down. My world fell and came true. On the ground, the dirt. I watch dandelions fight and clouds laugh.

Once on my feet again, I searched for words. They were kind, and they hungered for more. But the stars in my eyes wouldn’t reach the gutter where I stood.

I might have sabotaged myself, or perhaps I just had more hope, more naïveté. Odes make the shit glow. Odd, how I never fully felt at home.

Nevertheless, and never more— If it were true, me, the master manipulator and swift narrator, got broken-hearted for the sake of craft, Shouldn’t it be easier to write it down?

If I don’t, what was the point? of falling for a lover who wasn’t that kind?

The pen might have saved me from madness, dodging more than this one. If I didn’t love the pen, Would I take it all down?

Did it hurt, or did it cure? If nothing else is true, I would die protecting what saved my life. And for him? I wouldn’t cross the road on a green light.

words hurt. And the more I try to martyr my intended victim, the more I remember— he needed to say it, and then take it back.

I'm back at the pen, and he is back at badmouthing his life.

for @nosebleedclub's April prompt ars poetica