I wish I could live off more meaningful things.
I wish my poetry could keep me warm at night.
I wish I didn’t need people like I usually do.
It would be so great if metaphors talked back,
Or similies could hold deep conversations
During midnight hours,
When my mind finally agrees to rest.
If words had a chest,
I would lay my head on it,
And use it as a place where I can rest my insecurities.
If I could cry on Word’s broad shoulders…
I would cry away the pain that love has caused me,
I would cry until my heart spills out and lands up on its sleeve.
I wouldn’t have to worry about unanswered calls or unread texts,
Becacuse words truly speak to me.
I know, even when I don’t write in a long time,
My loyalty will never have to be questioned.
Because my love for Words is deeper than human relations,
I have a supernatural connection.
Even in sickness,
I would be restored to life,
Because even when Words aren’t around,
Their presence resignates deeply in me,
That I feel them inside.