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Nothing Fancy
by Angela ThomasFor this Ghazal, I will start it like they always say not to, stating
my intentions, writing out what I obviously have thought of to say
and have started to say a thousand times on a thousand little pieces
of paper that only ended up in my hands, in shreds, then in the garbage
because my work is not strong enough to survive alone on an empty page
where it must have broad feet and a wide reach to keep from falling over
and tumbling into the abyss that is filled with crappy works from people
that thought they were Poets and Artists and depressed. Not like me,
I'm unique. I'm beautiful. I'm wanted. I'm a good person. I am more so
these things than anyone else mainly because that is what I believe
I am. So, I've written five stanzas and still not been out with it. I suppose
that is just how this will have to go. It is like molasses. Cup your hands
around your eyes, maybe your ears, so that you will not need to hear
what I have to say. The same ramblings that always seem to come from
the slit between my lips and my cursed tongue. They are the demons
that move my limbs and my mind. I am a strange bird indeed
because I am always mimicing what I see. She yells, and I yell. She tells
and I tell. I stand around like a parrot spouting, shouting, spewing crap
all over everyone. And anyone who takes two seconds to look will see
a little lost girl with hurting brown eyes trying to find someone to listen. 05/15/2004 Posted on 05/15/2004
Copyright © 2024 Angela Thomas
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