Silent Mode

She said once
Poetry is meant to be read
And we wandered through the woods of sibilance and assonance

Certainly, some poems are for slams
To read them out, to pronounce
They are performed to audience that crums
The spitting, rhythmic, roaring sounds.

Some poems are the lyrics for the songs
They’re on repeat. You plug your earphones in.
The rhymes are sharks that circle you for long
And in your head they’re stuck, they bite into your skin.

Through glass in kindergarten doors
The sunny-bunny rhymes are heard
That’s what an illustrated thick book stores
Left on your childhood shelf interred.

My poetry is not for public use
It’s private, intimate. It’s yours.
You take it and you find your muse
Your meaning is under its cores.

I don’t discuss political confinement,
Religious views or how we’re all deceived.
My words in palms - they’re literal refinement
My poems are the letters you receive.

sometimes I don’t rhyme

there is no set rhythm and you
stumble
upon
words
the way you stumble upon furniture
when the lights are off
and the only thing that’s on
is an appointment you’ve booked ages ago

The reminder is on the fridge,
but you can’t see

the point

because the lights are off

And then I change the subject…
And focus on a different narrator…
You keep it to yourself, you promise?

with love,

a poetry creator