immortal.
somedays i feel otherworldly.
when i look around at
flesh and blood people,
with hot rage and burning hope,
flawed minds, highs and lows.
going through life searching
for something indeterminable.
i swear i am made of poems.
every action i take is another
step towards my next writing
frenzy, where everything
blurs together in my head
and all i can think of is
where to find the right words.
the rising beat, faster and faster,
as the phrases come together
to a life of their own,
creating a universe of themselves.
the emotions i spill,
the events that led me here.
some days i am just a conduit.
a place for the words to rest
on their journey to become meaning.
my existence is intrinsically
tied to my writing.
i feel as though i have
tethered bits of my soul
to each piece.
and with every read, i reclaim them.
somedays i feel otherworldly.
my poetry spills out of me in the
most natural way i can imagine.
until i am sure my veins and arteries
carry scrawled words upon their surface.
i am just a collection of alphabets.
and with each piece i write,
i come a little closer to being immortal.