On some days I wanna be a poem.
Not an exquisite one.
The one that’s raw and messy,
Without any rhyme or rhythm.
But keeps on expanding ,
Just when you think you’re done.
On some days I wanna be a poem.
To be read between my lines.
Understood
Even when I am under disguise
To be felt in your bones
A realization carried past the afterlife
On some days I wanna be a poem.
Silver lining to your dark cloud.
A fire to push through,
For someone who’s bound.
A quiet hope,
That stands firmly unbowed.
Some days I refuse to be anything but a poem.
A paradox and a revelation.
A thought that lingers.
An answer to your question.
And once you read me,
You’ll never be the same again.
