There's a certain type of poem
That you don't read in high school That you don't memorize for sixth grade drama That you don't write to impress anyone. There's a certain type of poem That you only write when you feel the urge A certain fulness, as if a birdsong Presses against your ribcage And screams to be released. Even Jeremiah paused his tears To talk about the fire in his bones. Here lies no rhyme, no meter Here lies no aesthetic purity But here lies passion and blazing words That fly like anvil sparks from my lips And drip like honey from my fingers.
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AuthorM. J. Piazza is a Jesus-loving, dog-walking country girl who just so happens to write books. Archives
April 2020
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