The Poet

his pen leaves splatters and drips
ink drops and blots
stained fingertips
a chewed up lip
used up nibs on the floor

his fingers run over his skull
scratching then clinging
messy then smooth
he squeezes the words out his pores

he leaves little messages
between the letters and the lines
the black marks and white spaces
(will she find them? does she care?)

words flow
and he doesn’t stop them
watches them fall in neat rows
from the corners of his eyes
to the smudged up page
he never erases

he begs for her to comprehend
he lies and says
the words don’t mean anything at all
desperation weights his eyelids
(will she look deeper?)

his heart bleeds out in
measured stanzas and lyrical songs
and colorful language
and twisted visions

he aches for redemption
aches for understanding and belief
he hopes she’ll interpret and perceive
he hopes the seeds will draw her into his soul
he hopes her eyes are wide open
(and still she’ll come)

his hand shakes but a little
he misses another meal
another six hours of sleep
he turns the page over
keeps writing

it’s all he was ever made for

tara caribou | © 2019

46 thoughts on “The Poet

  1. A cluster of emotions so beautifully penned down – my boyfriend is an author and while I was reading your poem, every bit reminded me of him..thank you for sharing this 🙂 it’s wonderful and truly inspiring!

    Liked by 1 person

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