Keypad and words

Writing requires change. From medium, with time, this journey has become.

As long as I write about my fears
I will use my keypad.
The diary where I write, still has the most of me,
in insecure, incorrect sentences,
with spaces lost inbetween days.

I hate my handwriting now, and openly scribble and chew my words,
Where do I begin to tell that the diary reminds me of dreams that have never come true;
of skin I have not dared to touch?
How do I sit with my diary without shame,
harping on your window and sering you undress?
My room was downstairs and locked,
and words still meant for you to decipher.
Quietly I have stolen your keys and made for nights,
perspiring under your sin.

My diary asks me now~
"Where is your home, for your hungry heart?
Where do you want to write, now that it is over?"

I come from a place where you do not want to go,
and that is why you are here, reading me sane.
Thank god for my keypad, where I erase after a line,
and forget my words after a while.
Quietly, it helps me unyield to distress.

Author's Note

Do you feel the same? I would love to know.

Reviews

[Aurora]

A deeply personal and uninhibited write about inhibition. A strong first time post. Contemplative and probing.