Let’s not speak of it.

I want you to know there are poems I’ll never tell you about,
or speak out loud.
There are poems I don’t write down.
stuck between my ribs, lodged in my throat, where it sticks, where I can’t breathe.
I want you to know there are poems that would ruin everything,
including me.
Like this thing that still hurts, old and still bleeding when I pay it too much attention.
There are poems that would do no one good.



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2 responses to “Let’s not speak of it.

  1. I loved a lot of your stuff but I’m not sure I’ve ever commented so here I am, sipping tea with about twelve tabs open behind this one. I am in no way an authority on poetry, I did one semester back at uni and that was years ago. Anything poetic that makes it into my notebooks is surreal at best and never seems to mean much when I read it back, so it stays behind turned pages and never sees the light of a monitor.

    A lot of your works hit a chord with me, but this one most of all. It’s how I feel about so many stories inside my head. They never seem to make it out, and I think sometimes that’s for the best.

    • Thank you 🙂 It’s always funny when people tell me which of my poems hits a chord in them, it ‘s usually never the one I suspect. This poem has gotten some attention online and I can’t help but to go “really, this one?” It’s great, it’s always unpredictable. But I think a lot of people recognise having a different page inside them that never makes it out on paper.

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