my words and nothing more

Was it my heart you wanted
or mere words to worship your eloquence
spreading seeds in desolate land?
You found beautiful verses
wrapped in fuchsia box
threw away the lines I drew for you prettily
swallowed by the darkness.
Though I am
shrugging off the crumbs,
look closely and you will find
how they are embedded
into each dawn.

~~~

© annie scribes 2017
all rights reserved

lines (un)seen

I scavenge the footnotes
for a hint of a line
that you’re missing me.
Verses that used to be
gracing my pages,
now live in another story.
And the sea never changed~
it keeps on flirting
with the rain.

~~~

© annie scribes 2017
all rights reserved

only the wind

He gave me a strange look
when I walked into the room.
“Where are the words?” he asked,
staring past me as if I was hiding
something behind my back.

“Somewhere safe,” I replied,
frantically telling my heart
to stop racing.

With the tone of voice
I would never forget,
he accused me of concealing
letters and stories
and said I was not willing
to share the verses.

Before he walked away
I told him I deserved
to have pieces of rhyme
he left behind
since he robbed me of the melody
I had thought was mine.

Who was I kidding~
really,
I was only talking
to the wind.

~~~

© annie scribes 2017
all rights reserved

a hundred notes

I wrote myself a hundred notes because
I was missing your words. You know,
those that used to sing along
with the soft breeze at night,
and whistle with the birds
in the morning.

The ones that kept looking
for the melody that was lost
among the chaos of traffic, and
tried to steal a nap
during the long commute from work.

I wrote myself a hundred notes because
you left me stranded on a deserted island
and there was really nothing better
to do.

~~~

© annie scribes 2017
all rights reserved

spilled messages

The less time I have, the more compelled I feel to spill on the pages. The longer the queue of words, awaiting their turns. The day changes, and the moon gets tired of my same old same old. I see her yawn a few times and I don’t blame her.

How long have I been carrying these messages within?

Who knows.

I’m still trying to figure out what they are really about.

~~~

© annie scribes 2017
all rights reserved