Like Cliffs

Sometimes my words
feel fake,
like pages
and cemeteries,
like walls
and faces.

I think I have
some sort of profundity
writhing in my veins,
but then I read
and see
like Sundays
and sunsets,
like living
and dying,
something everyone sees
instead of glimpses
into extraordinary.

These words seem
like lectures
and white rice,
like loneliness is
when it’s all around
but nothing moves it forward.

I wonder
if these lines
and letters
would fill your heart
like oceans
and love
or if they’d still hold
like people
and screens,
showing nothing
but edges
and cliffs.




5 thoughts on “Like Cliffs

    • I guess that’s the problem with staying anonymous (at least for me)–I have no one I trust to share this with, to glean insight from, to find out of I’m any good at this. I guess that’s just my insecurities talking. And you are great, btw! 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

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