Touching Emotions with a Pen

It’s been a minute since I was a poet

It’s been three since I’ve been quiet

I have said so much

And forgotten how to say less

Now I paint with clarity

Forgetting speech too is art

Is it always about communicating ?

Why not save the best part?

The bottom of the pot

Where the best rice goes to be burnt

The bottom slice

The lonely cold pizza bite

I just want to reconnect

To an old friend who only has ears

For words softly spoken

For words heading nowhere

Words that belong to no sect

No alliance or no couple, no pair

Words that paint beauty

For no good reason

Words that are beauty

Words that depict treason

And words that are pretty

Words that don’t sing in unison

I’m not a poet no more

But who will I be?

If a bossom bottom, I can’t depict?

Who am I now?

The orator of love’s unkind soul

When I can be, her very haul

Her very monument etched in rhymes

Using the fabled American dimes

Like a son of the orange brown leather

The very leather the king’s son, Kobe

Moulded into an Oscar behold game winners

My hands are rusty

My lips are chappy

My eyes are dimmy

Yet my senses are sharp

I can feel pain and pleasure

Sitting in the window of an airplane

I can breathe in loss and lent

Thinking my way through JavaScript

“I don’t need silence!”

“I don’t need solace!”

These are the cankerworms

Feasting on my decay

Life calls on me to smell the roses

And my answers continue to be :

“The rose is not my daddy.

Can I just eat my feelings ?”