When I was in school, I wrote prose pages long, usually as an assignment. I never considered it a chore.
My pen couldn’t keep up with the words my brain narrated to it. A misstep could mean a new spark of inspiration and my pen would have to play catch-up the rest of the way.
I used to like to call these sparks, ‘plot twists’ and the only way to experience them was to let the Train of Thought ride the rails so fast, the tracks would glow red.
Now, I write poetry.
Not because I don’t know how to write prose anymore,
but because I heard a poem
that made my heart hum,
and my lips followed in suite.
I found the melody in words.
I love having single lines move me
so much, it changed my writing style.
I aspire to make hearts hum
moved by the words scribbled in
my moving-out-sale notebooks,
just enough to leave you craving for more.
It is a breath of fresh air,
crafting thoughts with conscience precision,
they would slide into
I wish I learnt poetry in school:
teach me to wrap my paragraphs
into small phrases,
teach me how to fold my pen
and make origami,
even if it ends up being purely decorative,
occasionally glanced up,
the one worth taking the time
to appreciate and read.
Now I write Poetry by Cheyenne Alexandria Phillips is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.