I almost exclusively feel compelled to write free verse poetry when I’m feeling really bad, and for whatever reason, I always seem to write this poetry in the notes app on my iPhone.\u00a0 I think that reason that I feel the need to write free verse poetry is that I just need to get thoughts out of my head and down somewhere.\u00a0 I don’t need to work with restrictions like narrative or rhyme.\u00a0 I think the reason that I write in the notes in my phone is that these poems don’t feel polished.\u00a0 Like the feelings that inspired them, the poems feel raw and harsh.\u00a0 I’ve mostly dismissed these as not worth publishing but have never had the heart to delete them.\u00a0 I’m glad that I haven’t because I’ve come to appreciate them for their emotion.\u00a0 These are a few that I’ve written recently.<\/p>\n
Birth to Death and in Between<\/strong><\/p>\n A symphony Held and sung to You Falling, falling Once created Happy Your hands are clumsy Always growing But then you find **********************************************************<\/p>\n A Million Pieces<\/strong><\/p>\n I\u2019m a glass bottle I\u2019m an old book I am a broken light <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I almost exclusively feel compelled to write free verse poetry when I’m feeling really bad, and for whatever reason, I always seem to write this poetry in the notes app on my iPhone.\u00a0 I think that reason that I feel the need to write free verse poetry is that I just need to get thoughts … Continue reading “Poems from the Notes on my Phone”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":17,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2405"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/17"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2405"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2405\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2425,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2405\/revisions\/2425"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2405"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2405"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2405"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nUnto this world
\nFall into it
\nCaught in loving arms<\/p>\n
\nAnd fed and loved
\nAnd loved
\nAnd grown
\nShaped and molded
\nPrepared
\nTo receive
\nThis world<\/p>\n
\nA fallen star
\nOne in a million
\nOr one of
\nSeven billion
\nThat have not
\nBurnt out
\nOr returned
\nAll the same
\nAll afraid
\nAll hiding
\nIn lives
\nLives they\u2019ve woven
\nOut of sunsets
\nAnd diamonds
\nAnd love<\/p>\n
\nEver faster
\nInto the void
\nOne can\u2019t avoid
\nFalling falling
\nNever looking
\nAlways reaching
\nTo the sky<\/p>\n
\nAlive and happy
\nBut never
\nFulfilled
\nA desire
\nPure and honest
\nTo create
\nAs one once was<\/p>\n
\nIt\u2019s nothing
\nA momentary
\nFlash of light
\nAnd return
\nTo dark
\nSometimes longer
\nTo be dishonest
\nBut always
\nTo return
\nTo dark<\/p>\n
\nAlways breaking
\nThe sculptures
\nBefore they\u2019re complete
\nOver and over
\nAlways sculpting
\nBut never completing<\/p>\n
\nGrowing careful
\nBut your eyes
\nGrow faster
\nThan your hands
\nFinally creating
\nWhat once would have
\nSatisfied your eyes
\nBut no longer will<\/p>\n
\nYou sit at the door
\nFrom which once
\nYou were thrown out
\nYou are returning
\nYou are knocking
\nYou want to break the door down
\nBut are again turned away
\nNot now
\nYou are not yet ready
\nThough some day later
\nUntil you have truly returned
\nYou are incomplete<\/p>\n
\nI\u2019m full
\nFull of words
\nWords I can\u2019t say
\nTears I can\u2019t cry
\nOn the verge
\nOf overflowing
\nOf breaking
\nShattering
\nInto a million pieces<\/p>\n
\nTucked away
\nNever read
\nNever to be read
\nMy pages yellowed
\nAnd cracked
\nBreaking with every touch
\nCrackling
\nInto a million pieces<\/p>\n
\nAfraid of turning on
\nBearing my light only when
\nIt cannot be seen by others
\nAfraid to blind them
\nMy light too bright
\nToo intense
\nMy bulb
\nBursting
\nInto a million pieces<\/p>\n