backspaces and blank pages;

let this blank page set me free,
let my words flow like blood through my veins;
my pen is my magic wand,
and i will let it wave.
a mess of ink, backspaces, crossed out phrases.
with an infinate alphabet,
and you can see my easel.
words flung like paint across the pages,
and the paper is my relfection,
a reflection,
of who i am,
who i want to be,
who i see,
what i see,
and what i think,
what i imagine.
my words are truth,
my words are lies,
my words are alive,
you can feel their pulse,
the rythm of syllables.
let them breathe,
let me breathe,
through a jumble of letters,
through this language,
and all the others.
my letters have a story.


  1. This is totally a poets work. You've touched on a main point of my own, "the rythm of syllables." (rhythm) Wonderful work!

  2. once again, thank you soo much! especially for your opinions/input!


what did you think?