Maybe something’s broken. 

Or maybe I’m healing. 

Whatever it is- 

My words are gone.

My feelings are rooted. 

Never giving the river a chance. 

Nostalgic for something that was never mine. 

And without the novelty 

The muse grows stubborn, too.  

How do you fill blank pages,

If emptiness is all you feel?

I don’t know the answer,

But I know I need this. 

Just like I needed your songs,

To forget your lies,

and to remember the love. 

I need my words,

To stay afloat. 

They tether me to life.

Cause without them I’ll be drifting.

Gliding away in the open sky. 

A loose balloon in the summer breeze. 

What a freedom it’d be!

To finally be able to let go.

But I know the flight will be fleeting

And the freedom momentary. 

So I go back to my old shackles. 

I need to find my words. 

I have to. 

For I’ve always been a poet on borrowed emotions. 

& I need to write something new. 

So, I look in the places we fell in love. 

In long, heartfelt passages and wise one liners. 

In the pages which convinced me of magic.

In stories which broke barriers of space and time. 

& I still can’t find them. 

Where are they?

Who am I?

I’m lost… 

So, let me start again- 

‘I’m looking for my words…

Not love, not money, not happiness.

I just want my words. 

Has anybody seen them?’


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Quote of the day

“Her attitude to her verse was artisan-like: if she couldn’t get a table out of the material, she was quite happy to get a chair, or even a toy. The end product for her was not so much a successful poem, as something that had temporarily exhausted her ingenuity.”

~Ted Hughes on Sylvia Plath’s poetry. 


That sunny day,

when you looked dead in my eyes

& said you never loved me;

was the day the rain began. 

& it hasn’t stopped since.


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