Words Slipping Through My Grasp

There are words

Begging to be typed,


That want to pour from my soul,


Who’s only mission

Is to be read,

To be transferred from my thoughts

To a beautifully blank page.

Ideas flow through my bloodstream,

Carrying oxygen to my brain,

But never put together,

Never interpretable.

I stretch my veins out,

Hoping to capture them,

To let themselves be held,

But they slip through my grasp,

Too thin to be analyzed,

Too strong to be ignored.

Every time a put a pencil to paper,

My fingertips to my keyboard,

Verses push up the the tips of my limbs,

But refuse to let go,

Self-destructing themselves

Until they’re yet again


Shrapnel of metaphors,

Messages and meanings,

Torn-up pages

Of a novel bearing everything

That inspires me.

There are words,

Ideas and inspiration,

That would glow so much brighter

If they pieced themselves together

And let it be known.

Posted in response to the challenge Spring: Writing Contest.



14 years old

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