an ode to words

although i have not kept count of the amount of people who have walked out of my life,

like a train leaving the station—fast, abrupt, all-at-once;

i have kept count of the words that follow.

 

i wrote four hundred and sixty three words that night.

after you walked out of the door for the last time and the pen

called me and i melted onto paper like wax.

and i want you to know—it felt good,

to lose myself in something besides you.

 

i want you to know—it feels good,

to be so powerful on my own.

 

my words could move mountains, if they wanted,

although i like them better tucked away on torn pages.

not because i am afraid to show the world

my letters—but because,

these words are mine.

they heal me;

they rid me from the taste of your lips, and to that—i owe them my life.

 

don’t underestimate my words; for they are all i know.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741