Sometimes
things move
when I’m not looking at them.
Sometimes
I feel like
people are spying on me.
Often
I see and hear things
which others can not.
Yesterday
the text on my computer screen
changed while I couldn’t see it,
but it stayed the same.
Moments ago
a girl was looking at me in the hall,
she is not real.
Right now
these words are being stored
to be used against me,
nobody cares about my poetry.
To make these thoughts exist
is both an act of
self exploration
and self destruction.
This is a dangerous game,
I am scared.
Share:
I’m scared too. very gripping. the curse of the poet, my friend is that no one reads poetry…except those that understand. I am one of those. But we’re in a small minority. I write to confront my demons, mostly…and in that lies the purpose. please keep writing.
Creative minds go through such, at times.
I care about your poetry and others, I learn much
from reading other poets views.