Real Poetry

Is there A magic In the words themselves Or the way I string them Together; pearls of syllables Sitting together Firmly underlining That this is no different That I am no poet- But I can break Thoughts into fragments Actions into speech And words into special bonds Of unpredictable vocabulary That understandably Discard true meaning … Continue reading Real Poetry



A little writing exercise on a fictitious phobia- mine's a toss up between 10+ missed calls and falling to my death. I write about one.