Words are meaningless
(at least that’s what she said when I called her out on it)
There is never a reason for writing words
No inspirations in human or vegetable form
No muses that inspire passion beyond the norm
Words are just art,
amorphous spigots of thought
spit from vacuums of what…
Art art art!!! O N L Y ART!
Poems are Big Bangs of abc’s
Throw them up
See what sticks
If you’re lucky you get something human
Something beautiful, deep, inspirational
Something invoking emotion pulled from inside
the writer who threw them up,
regurgitations of some fucking beautiful, deep fucking stuff…
(conspicuous use of the word ‘fucking‘ always makes the woman ‘writer’ seem much less impotent and so much more legitimate)
Words are (in my insane, naive head)
For a buck, but,
how dare you imply it’s not from the heat?
I mean, heart! Heart!!
All from the HEART!!
But it’s not!!!
(you say you say you say, again)
See, it’s only when we (they) say
it’s from the heart, only then,
the rest of the time not,
Words (you say again)
That’s how real writers write, right?
It doesn’t have to make sense, just read it
and believe all the bullshit we (they) spit
in a context making no sense,
that’s how it is
makes cheating legit (very convenient, isn’t it?)
(That fit ONLY what we’re comfortable with)
it’s not selling out, it’s selling it
and if we get a little action on the side, so be it
it’s only hearsay and poetry, bitch
©justagirllost2~ Monique M.