were carved
to write sweet words
on blank pages
but I am tired
of all the love poems
my heart insists
on pouring out
I pour water
over my bleeding hands
to wash away
all the empty words
while a blank page
stares me in the eye
beckoning me
to pick up my pen
you think you know
what I am made of
but I am not afraid
to try something new
No comments:
Post a Comment