The Poet's Body

Kinsey Peterson

I wrapped sentences so tightly 

their tension became my tendons.

My commas stretched into bone;

my hyphens into the length of my spine.

The adventurer slipped into my fingertips-

the lover into my chest

the dreamer flooded my skull.

Quotations faded into muscle and

the freak found my limbs to be home.

The pencil works best not on paper

but rather on flesh and skin,

poets aren't made to write poetry...

rather poems are made to write them.

  • Author: Kinsey Peterson (Offline Offline)
  • Published: January 30th, 2023 09:24
  • Comment from author about the poem: Sometimes I'm convinced my heart beats ink instead of blood.
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 23
  • Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek, Ash :), Rocky Lagou.


  • Debake

    You captured what it is to write so perfectly I couldn't have said it better!

  • jennie

    Spontaneous overflow of powerful emotions that leave your mind so cold that no fire can ever warm it ........I read that's what poetry is.

    Now after reading your poem i can say that it happens to the poets too.

  • Goldfinch60

    So true Joan, words are always within us.


  • Myth

    It is a wonderful piece , I have a hunch you are a medical student overwhelmed by words..

    • Kinsey Peterson

      Interesting guess, I am actually an aspiring history major still in high school.

    • L. B. Mek

      I do so agree
      I find myself typing away
      and only realise what i've written
      after i read it back
      which is in line with your insightful
      'poets aren't made to write poetry...
      rather poems are made to write them.'
      how acute, dear Poet
      'our words, ink us alive'
      thanks for sharing, forgive my tardiness

      • Kinsey Peterson

        Does it matter the timeline of sincerity? Thank you L.B.

      • Rocky Lagou



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