This is not Poetry

its like my hands are frozen
and even as i write nothing feels right
so full of feeling and yet so numb
the world spins and i question why we live standing in 90 degree angles
until we are too tired to stand anymore
and why we sleep when we arent tired
and why we are awake when we are exhausted
and how come coffee makes my ribs feel like they are going
to fall out of my body
and can i still call this poetry
even though it is the rantings of a girl who is tired
and cannot remember how to wake up

and its like my mind is frozen and even i think
it doesnt seem to catch up to everyone else
and people are slowing down to let me catch up
but i continue to slow down in increments and i wonder
why i am not 180 degrees lying down on the pavement
and can this still be called art
when it is the musings of girl who is stupid
and trapped inside her own head

i guess we will call it that
for now


2 thoughts on “This is not Poetry

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