I’m not a poet

I’m not a poet

I leave it to the prose
What happens when my pen dances across a paper?

I really don’t know

For that instant my heart and hand are

In sync

I don’t think, I feel

It happens without my consent, permission or otherwise

It is simply will

When I sit to write, it’s right

When I cry, my pen cries

Bleeding a thousand tears in stream-like sequence

My frequency, my energy

Streamline the graceful yet abrasive movements of

Sullen ink

In that moment I am a goddess on high

I reign

Thoughts and emotions rain

Words

Words are what they are and mean what they mean

But that’s just semantics

I’m crazy

For that molecule of time

My mind, without boundaries, flies

Honesty