Though lifting the pen
To bleed on the page
Seems like a gift,
A talent given,
I would argue that
There are days
When writing poetry
Feels like madness leaking
Outward from my head.
Rhythm and rhyme
Pulsing in time
To how broken
My heart is.
The urge to pull the pen
to bleed upon the page
is something that seems
to be unwilling to fade…
I thought poetry would be
a passing phase,
something that I would grow
out of as I would age.
Instead, I have found myself
drawn deeper in,
bleeding more verse
than I wanted to in the end.
Since it’s world poetry day… here’s 2 more of my own.
Have you gathered bones?
Can you find the answers? Do You Have a Copy yet?
As many of you know I try to use Serena for my more gothic pieces. I posted the above in a poetry group on Facebook. A private one as I was not ready to share it. In my mind it spoke of finding reasons to live…Facebook flagged it as speaking about suicide or self harm.
I have had my poetry with Serena misunderstood before.
This one I wrote about the Dahlia Murders…and I was promptly told I was writing about the female anatomy.
I am saddened by the removal because I would have loved to have the other poets feedback…but I guess that was Facebook telling me I wrote something worth censoring.
