words. (prose)
By Brinneall
sitting on a couch that doesn't belong to her in a room she barely knows [but it's quiet here, I can write she thinks] just wishing, still hoping for the phone to ring, for things to go, just once, as she planned them to go. Sleeplessness catching up to her again, she slept for hours this afternoon and now she's so awake, doesn't know what do to but write, and words flow from her like blood from a fresh cut wound, but the words don't nearly satisfy.They're never quite good enough.Calls herself a poet, even though she knows that she's not special. Deep down, everyone's a poet, so what makes her any different? What's so different? So what if she can put words on paper, they're just words. 'giving hope change tide blue potato clock picture gray sparkle sun moon stars sky'Just words. What makes hers worthy of being called great? Anyone can write words, sitting alone in a room that's not theirs at midnight when the thoughts come and go in your lonely head. Lonely not because you're alone from other people, but because you're alone inside... You still don't know who you are.-Jada Marie Andrews © on Aug 26 2001 10:07 AM PST 0 • 10
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"sitting on a couch that doesn't belong to her in a room she barely knows [but it's quiet here, I can write she thinks] just wishing, still hoping for the phone to ring, for things to go, just once, as she planned them to go. Sleeplessness catching up to her again, she slept for hours this afternoon and now she's so awake, doesn't know what do to but write, and words flow from her like blood from a fresh cut wound, but the words don't nearly satisfy.They're never quite good enough.Calls herself a poet, even though she knows that she's not special. Deep down, everyone's a poet, so what makes her any different? What's so different? So what if she can put words on paper, they're just words. 'giving hope change tide blue potato clock picture gray sparkle sun moon stars sky'Just words. What makes hers worthy of being called great? Anyone can write words, sitting alone in a room that's not theirs at midnight when the thoughts come and go in your lonely head. Lonely not because you're alone from other people, but because you're alone inside... You still don't know who you are.-Jada Marie Andrews © on Aug 26 2001 10:07 AM PST 0 • 10..."