Writing a poem
Finally
Alone with my words
I choose them and coax them
And ask them where they would like to lay
I think aloud
Then on paper
I have imaginary talks with friends I haven’t seen
And those I’ve never known
The cat walks by
The words disappear
I re-emerge somewhere in the poem
It finds me
Or sometimes it doesn’t
Sometimes it is only me
And my wishes to create something beautiful
Which never appears
and even when words don’t come
and poems are forced
a small creak
can be heard
from the inside
I like who I am
When I am writing
A poem.
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