by Poet on the Piano   Mar 7, 2013

Usually I can name my thoughts, fashion a
stage for my feelings, and direct my footsteps
where they are needed.

However, my words are a grey script-
located from a stoic typewriter that knows
little of the transitions of life.

So I am motionless cement, laying down like
a headstone too bashful to stand erect.
I pull my hood instinctively over my frigid ears,
you've never known me to scrunch in the
confines of a bed too wide to breathe in,
but right now, you don't question me

the way I do myself.

written March 6, 2013 @ 10:59 pm


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Latest Comments

  • 5 years ago

    by Chelsey

    My my my what have we here?

    A poem with metaphors that break your heart.

    Maryanne this was amazing!! Sometimes too many metaphors become overwhelming, i dont think they are necessary in every stanza, but here, its almost like your metaphors werent metaphors...they just totally made sense to me..they didnt sound like broken English, or crafty writing, it was as if they told the story and had me nodding my head like yup, I agree with this, yup, this makes sense. I know I'm babbling, but I hope you get what I mean. I havent really been captivated by metaphors like I have here in a really long time. I love it!!

  • 5 years ago

    by Ingrid de Klerck

    Some very deep soul searching is going on in MaryAnne's head...

    You will come out a stronger person, little sister, believe me *hugs*

    Very well written, stunner you<3

    5/5 Ingrid

  • 5 years ago

    by Tara Kay

    :O What the...
    MaryAnne, You tore me and left me dumbfounded...
    I cannot comment, because there's nothing to say except WOOOOOOOOW!!