Wistful Words

Poetry used to fall from my earthy lips like flowers.

My words were lightning

My hands thunder

My tears like glass and waterfalls

Falling heavily onto each chalky page.

But now my tears are salt

And they fall onto blank pages

What used to be flowers falling from my lips

Are now the ashes of the poems I want to write

But somehow can’t.

They are stuck in that place in my mind

I can’t yet find.

The world is full of delicious ideas

Yet they drip through my callused hands

Like a liquid so pure

I can’t  seem to 




But now I’m slowly starting again 

Remembering what was lost

How it feels to write

Like dewy mornings and midnight rain.

The words are here again

Blooming on my tongue. 




16 years old