just words

September 28, 2010 Posted by the writer

I’m playing with prose in between sorting the next book… in title-less ways like this:

It was something that was fiercely (personal) affective.

My pouting lips twisted in a way where (withheld) words fought the air for a treasured moment of sound. Syllables I silenced with string filled ears; my diplomatic eyes rejoiced with (expression) drips of invisible recollections.

I thought (you knew) the way a piano shakes the leaves off my gripped heart tree. And (you said) how it’s hard for me to (fit in) manipulate a world where I can –


Grey clouds on a cobalt sky bring me comfort you can’t (touch). The (discomforting) reality of my bruised lip and watery gaze frightens you. Because once you thought you could (fix) change (it) –

me. I don’t mind.

The natural (trick) imperceptibility of how (souls) I trace walk up and down my unabashed spirit that just isn’t –

(good enough) for you.

I’m (not) sorry.

I’m not sad.

About the writer

gretchen's brain is preoccupied with words.

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    FollowMeToNYC is a creative processing ground which expresses individual ideas that often change with the tides. Naturally, these ideas do not reflect those of any of my employers, or anyone else you might see me wandering down the street with one day.
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