Tears On A Prep-Table
Box with green ribbon.
Label and disc.
I have never heard such silence.
Small aqua-knit cap.
White fabric with gray elephants.
Some faces will eat you alive with guilt.
Verify information.
Check, sign.
Some things you never unsee.
Ink pad.
Softly pressing
for perfect memory.
Delicate.
Painful.
Tears on a prep-table.
Shaking pen
Disrupted expression.
I have no words.
Same date.
Tears on a prep-table.
3 thoughts on "Tears On A Prep-Table"
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Again I have to say.
You have a concise
element to your writing that is very
unique. There is a thing called – a writers voice – and your voicing is wonderfully you.
I love it. Thank you for writing and sharing.
I’m not a traditional poet by any means, but my voice is the only thing I’ve had to cut my teeth with.
I have ADHD, pretty sure I’d categorize as high functioning autistic, but creative expression has always been a sort of incubator for me to process my life and it’s helped me grow and relate to everyone in this life, and I think that I’m drawn to authenticity in a voice.
Today, hardly anyone feels heard or seen.
When you put the pen to paper, the brush to canvas, the finger on the shutter, your fingers on a fret board, grip a drum stick; that’s when you demand to be seen. Your story WILL be heard, and I want to hear as many stories as people have to share of their lives.
Take care today my good friend!
And you.
Thank you.