by Aaron Blair
I confess to poetry,
to the string of words that sums me up,
to the sum that strings me up,
my fragile neck snapping,
my broken body swaying in the wind.
It's an art, the body of work,
hung up for display.
I have told you what I am,
all of it, and all of it fits,
in the same words, the repetition
of a phrase. I assure myself.
I am not sure of anything
but I make myths, all the same.
This is my story, as well
as I remember it, and you
will well remember it,
because the paper I wrote it on
was sharp, and it hurt just to hold.
The weight of this pain
is not mine alone, now, I see
your back bending like a reed.
This is our new shape.
Together, we curve like words.
Posted on 06/04/2013
Copyright © 2023 Aaron Blair
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by George Hoerner on 06/04/13 at 11:17 AM|
Excellent write lady. We do hang ourselves out to seen and judged when we write and post our poems, for there is not one that doesn't carry some part of us out there for anyone to read.
|Posted by Kristi Paik on 06/05/13 at 02:18 AM|
The last line truly is masterful. Wonderful write, thank you for posting it!
|Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 06/06/13 at 02:16 AM|
So well conceived, almost a delicate touch as you develop this - so fine!
|Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 06/06/13 at 02:44 PM|
I Confess Aaron, captivating read from start to finish. I especially like the way it starts and finishes, but also well supported in the middle.