I pretend I’m a poet sometimes.
Even though I use the same lines.
Like how my doubts are butterflies.
Or how my mind is like the chords of violins.
I pretend I’m a poet sometimes.
I try to use big words.
This is a big world. And I’m lost in it.
I like to listen to Lana in any spare moment.
Her words speak volumes but only for the chosen.
They rush through me like blood through my veins.
Until they reach the heart of me.
And I’m sane.
I pretend I’m alive sometimes.
I like to convince myself I know what it’s worth.
I know nothing of this world.
I find myself wishing it was over.
Nostalgia can come in waves like crimson and clover.
I pretend I’m a poet sometimes
I pretend that I’m free
That I’m away from the darkness that has this hold on me.
I’d like to think of myself as this party girl who never sleeps.
But I’m alone at nighttime and I wish I was free.
“”I belong to no one who belongs to everyone “” that’s my favorite line.
I watch myself dancing behind the lids of closed eyes.
I pretend I’m a poet sometimes
And who am I to decide?
What words can mean,
whether I’m free
Or if I feel alive.
I pretend I’m a poet sometimes
Because my mother used to be.
her escape ,her cope ,
Her hopes and dreams
Wrapped up in pages and pages of beautiful poetry.
I pretend I’m a poet sometimes
Even though I use the same lines.
My doubts are now silver linings
And my mind is softer than the wings of butterflies.