The songs we sing

The songs we sing
are nothing but notes;
just knots in our chests,
melodies in our throats,
that ache to be heard
that yearn to unknot themselves
from our vocal chords
from the symphonies
of our thoughts.

Nov 30, 2015 8:34 pm

Edit: for some unknown reason, this poem sounds familiar. I remember writing it but I feel like I might have read something similar somewhere.