No writing voice to the thinking noise
What if I’m not writing what I’m supposed to be?
Who can tell what’s not the right formula for the likes of me?
“Thoughts are better left buried in the head,
because if undug
you risk unearthing the betread”,
interjected my mother dreading
lest she be misled.
What if I’m thinking of what I’m not supposed to write?
Will my censored secrets be taken to the grave?
“Words that give away forlorn hopes are, indeed,
ornaments of a life that was, but is no longer meant to be”,
pinpointed I, the curator with an intuition deemed deed-free.
What if I’m ill-comporting myself beyond the dictates of common sense?
Will my not writing conscience pull me out of my doomful well?
No more writing voice to the thinking noise.
The lingering dilemma is not mine to dissolve.
Until words reconciliate with thoughts
I will be my own judge of what I leave unsaid.
Angela Ypsilanti.
