Would my words mean more
If they were written with a pen
I got free at a conference?
Does the colour of the ink I use
Show through in the words,
Or just the fact that
I wrote them on lined, white paper?

To me, my words feel different
According to the size of the paper
On which I wrote them.
Sometimes they are tightly packed
In a small notebook
Which lasts forever,
And sometimes they drift
Listlessly on a vast page.

But wherever they are, I usually
Have no idea what they mean.
And the only one who could never reach me
Was the only one who ever really wanted to,
And I'm a million different people
From who I was at the beginning,
Though I haven't changed at all.

When you read my words,
Do you see some simile,
Some metaphors and some
Alliteration tied together
Into lines of n syllables,
Or do you see me?

These days, what was once
Recent to me now seems
Like years ago, and all that
Randomness someone once loved about me
Now does nothing but annoy
A good many people.

Like my inability to know
When to say things
And when to shut up.

03/09/2002

Posted on 03/09/2002
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