Thursday, 28 April 2011

28/30

Only two poems left. It makes me sad.

Yes
i am a silly tender girl
my bones and my mind
are made up of
promises and poetry

my eyes are too restless
my gods too playful
and my heart too young
for my own good

and
my words are too muffled
metaphors too lofty
and choices too absurd
for a lot of other people's
tastes

and yes
it is true

i have given myself many names
hidden in the folds of stage curtains
the shadows of piano keys
and sometimes the stomachs of
question marks

i call it art
although it feels
a little less blameless,
a little less mine

but it is easy to forget
when you are with me--
a friend although it feels
a little less outlined
a little more cautious

and a lot less likely.

thank you.

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