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POEM: pain of writing

September 27, 2014

Read this piece for the first time in New York. A Big Apple debut.

 

she

marked the skies

with her fingertips,

pinched stars into

existence

spat spirals, split galaxies

from plump lips, loosened

layers of the universe

with her eyelashes

don’t steal my poem 

powerful

don’t steal my poem

creativity creates

a curve in her spine

she’s bent over a table

tolling over every word,

it’s a stitch, one of many

in her fabricated fiction

at times the hem seems crooked,

needs repair, plucked pieces

soon sewn again

the hole

where the needle first

pierced cloth

stares round and dark

back at her, no such thing

as fully erased,

every mistake leaves a

mark.

this is the pain

of writing.

http---signatures.mylivesignature.com-54492-302-AFB064D7ACFDACE242484DEC1421E4D7

 

 

 

 

 

© Whitney French

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