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i feel insular,
inside out,
separated sock.
letters scroll past,
squeezing my insides,
sharp consonants around lungs.
soft vowels around hearts.
there’s some kind of feeling in here.
some kind of overly,
that tears through the blue.
and there’s some kind of gratitude.
but it’s laced with,
something incapacitating,
pulled tight, stretched taut,
strummed by self doubt.
you’ve left behind words.
words that contain feelings.
as you notched another,
inch on the graph,
that some obsess about.
but of obsessive realities,
i have little care.
i’m simply obsessed with this pen,
and the a, s, d, f, g, h, j, k, l,
and a world to create,
within a world,
from inside this one and zero place,
that is fiction,
and yet,
also strangely true.
but most of all,
i am looking at myself,
trying to see what you do.
and offering the two words,
that you truly deserve.
they are,
they are,

4 Responses to “comments”

  1. Carla says:

    I wrote this in December 2009. Reworked and reposted June 2010.
    I’m not sure I’m ever satisfied with anything I write… or ever think anything is ever finished, worthy of hitting that ‘publish’ button.
    But the comments you leave behind, you email, you facebook, you DM… spur me on… and I am grateful for your time and your encouragement. Truly.
    So… Thank You.
    Carla x

  2. Chris says:

    I believe professional and amateur writers alike struggle with perfectionism [artists too]. A piece is never finished. You are so poetic and so naturally gifted. I’ll say, “You’re welcome,”, but in reality… thank you. xx

  3. Laureen says:

    Why self doubt? You’re not old enough for a Mid life crisis yet!

    The results show just how good you are.
    Your writing moves a lot to write a comment and give you compliments, that does stand for some thing
    keep up the good work.

    Thank you L

  4. epi says:

    “within a world,
    from inside this one and zero place,
    that is fiction,
    and yet,
    also strangely true.”

    simply lovely. i love the way you write.

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