Do not want

Do not want to draw a dot to dot of my creativity.
How I get inspiration from a song
a poet
a beat

or your torrid romance.

Others love this finger-pointing obsession for
deconstruction

Not me. I always mocked at it in university and the erudite professors coming onto me.

Let me breathe again
you have made me weak
lost in a storm

my fingers are aching from writing
and typing the feelings
and
not the reasons
why and how you do this to me

You create a force
that pulls me to your street
in the pouring rain

All the writing about writing,
on writing
makes my lids heavy
my bed beckons me
to sleep or not to sleep

I read a novel and turn the pages over
at the parts
that signify the essence
of breathing
at the parts
I feel you closer to me

You are in my body, tearing me apart.

You know exactly what I mean.
It’s fuckin’ scary.

2 comments

  1. Mike · September 3, 2013

    Frustration resonates throughout as a poet craves respite. Very strong voice here – well done Crissy.

    • Chrissy · September 3, 2013

      Thanks so much. A lot of frustration! You got that right.

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