Written on a park bench when I was 22.
This is how I write
I just scribble
until I stumble upon
(a rare occurrence).
On my best days
my words fall out of my fingertips
like leaves from branches in autumn
they mix in piles on the ground
and people I like
and a few that I dont
and mostly strangers
shuffle their feet through my words
unaware that they are wading ankle deep
in my heart.
because feelings hurt
all those crowded thoughts in stacks in my brain
waiting for their turn to roll off my tongue
or leak from my pen.
The hardest part is not knowing
how to turn it off
so every word
written or spoken
every grammatically correct text message
ever look or blink or touch
all of it is my poetry
wild and unchained
pieces of my mind.