Should I begin
by stating the date,
and time, should I
explain that I have
feeling? Should I
cry into my soup about
angry, depressive vices?
Should I deny
my emotional antennae, or
that I am
susceptible to influence
feigning strength
from behind a mask of
inner depth that
no one understands, but
this isn’t why
I write
in cryptic non-descriptions,
to present myself as
a codependent lover
on the fringe
with lone wolf
wrist cutter
tendencies, developing
tangled contradictions, and
black magic conjured puppets
to eviscerate and confuse
through backwards rhetoric?

Novice poets are
a tragically uninteresting
group, however
I want to tell them that I
understand. As an amateur
myself; from this, I’ve grown, as such,
my adolescent dungeons
have matured
as well

and no one cares.

© Emerys Watchel, 2015 All rights reserved.


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