by Ryan Nardi

I can close my eyes and ascend.
I can feel my body burst
and disperse
but remain contained
and rise
and bubble up
into the sky.

I can wish and not think.

I can be in the moment and want it to stop.

I can look back on my mistakes and say "Hallelujah!"

But I'm a writer, and not worth a listen.
I form my constellations out of spit.
I can pour my fucking heart out
and you won't give a shit.

And that's OK.


Posted on 05/13/2014
Copyright © 2023 Ryan Nardi

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 05/13/14 at 01:10 PM

personally, I give a good hang and crow about writers. How can I not, who pour out their hearts? Such as are worth more than mere listening, but something deeper and larger scoped.

Return to the Previous Page

pathetic.org Version 7.3.2 May 2004 Terms and Conditions of Use 0 member(s) and 2 visitor(s) online
All works Copyright © 2023 their respective authors. Page Generated In 0 Second(s)