The words I write aren't words at all
When I pick up my pen
And hear the call
To write, they say,
I say I cannot
They say don't be stupid
You've simply forgot
You used to be good
At getting out of your head
What you wanted to say
But wrote down instead
And now there is college
With boys on your mind
So when you try to write
There aren't words to find
That tell the story I want
There are no perfect lines
No matter how hard I try
I can't think of the rhymes
So the words I write aren't words at all
They're the thoughts on the paper
That's curled into a ball
Now I'm writing things I know I'll regret
But whatever I do
I can't seem to forget
Which is why
The words I write aren't words at all.
That poem is untitled, as for now.
I'm home alone this half term and consequently my mother decided to phone me this afternoon. I instead ended up having a conversation with my brother about graveyards, because he and mum went to see some to find out some dates for the family tree thing he's doing.
As for cookies...the first batch I made disappeared really quickly. I think the cookie monster might have been involved somehow. I'd quite happily share my cookies with him and hang out, but he's not a logical creature.
Off to feel old and watch Star Trek.
B xxx :)
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