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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: Celibate Writerdots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: Joybell
    ASL Info:    22/F/MO
    Elite Ratio:    3.17 - 101/94/56
    Words: 236
    Class/Type: Misc/Misc
    Total Views: 590
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 1294



    Description:
       


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsCelibate Writerdots
    -------------------------------------------


    I want to write, itís a need; no a desire, like one for a man.
    Once a taste, you can only go so long without, and wonder how you ever did.

    A pounding in the back of my head with things I want to say, a burning at my fingertips, a longing on my lips.

    What is my excuse? Why can I not just take a pen in hand and fulfill this need? Why am I torturing myself this way?
    A celibate writer with a desire like a fireplace fire, so hot but so caged.

    I take my ink and sit down and try to drink the moment and capture it on paper.
    Something inside me grows sick, rebels at the thought; something doesnít feel right; like a virgin on her second night.

    When did I get here? Why are my thoughts now so unclear, this used to be my relaxing joy?
    My fingers stiffen with the pen; no longer want to flow across smooth paper, my thoughts dry up leaving me fighting with myself; do I force this?

    The pounding has stopped the moment is gone, Iím already moved on, another moment not captured, another thought not properly swirled on my tongue. I barely remember when this used to be fun.

    I crumple the dry sheets and stand to leave, nothing happening here for me.







    Submitted on 2011-08-25 17:12:35     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      much like sex...sometimes we just long so much for it...but then when we actually have it...there is disappointment...in the man or the woman..or as writers, the poem...
    it's like going out for a one night stand and feeling regrets...

    we pick up the muse at a bar..take her home, have our way with her..and then realize her reluctance has created nothing but a guilt feeling...and a really bad poem..

    but i find this to be a really good poem..with a nice extended metaphor...

    lying coyly between the sheets!


    jacob
    | Posted on 2011-08-26 00:00:00 | by jacoberin | [ Reply to This ]


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