04-02-2020, 02:51 PM
I scribble this question again and again
in my diary, blunt pencil and a fistful of doubt,
hoping to find a mirror in a bed of words.
I long to be a signature, but morph into a sponge,
crouching in the shadows of others,
for a drop of greatness.
Give me your metaphors that glow like comets,
lighting up an audience.
Throw me a word of praise I can wear like an epithet.
I am a castle of dreams, slave to failure,
a believer in ladders to zeniths from rock bottom.
Every so often, a broken rung scrapes against my skin,
sands the edges of a person still forming,
and the conundrum in my heart grows,
in search of a word, an adjective
for those growing blank spaces.
Perhaps, when I've collected enough words,
I would be everything.
in my diary, blunt pencil and a fistful of doubt,
hoping to find a mirror in a bed of words.
I long to be a signature, but morph into a sponge,
crouching in the shadows of others,
for a drop of greatness.
Give me your metaphors that glow like comets,
lighting up an audience.
Throw me a word of praise I can wear like an epithet.
I am a castle of dreams, slave to failure,
a believer in ladders to zeniths from rock bottom.
Every so often, a broken rung scrapes against my skin,
sands the edges of a person still forming,
and the conundrum in my heart grows,
in search of a word, an adjective
for those growing blank spaces.
Perhaps, when I've collected enough words,
I would be everything.