Writing Without Words

How do I begin to write poetry, when I’m far from the brink of despair?

Do I string words like lights at Christmas time, wrapping them across my body and around my neck,

until I choke out some semblance of meaning?

or should I sit

and think

and wait

pondering until genius finds me, then tears me apart

How hard should I try to pluck phrases from trees?

out of reach,

or only as far as one can imagine

I think I can.

tugging branches through thin air, until I’ve scattered enough letters

to articulate a coherent expression

I still don’t understand.

How high or drunk or crossed in mind must one be,

to form some-sound-thing from nothing?

I’d let every sad thought consume me and embrace the pain if I could.


But I can’t escape the torture,

craving release through words.

Originally featured in The Creative Cafe, a Medium publication

Click here to explore more poetry like this!


Marketing Student - Comfort-obsessed, plant-loving mess. Always trying. Continually coming to be.


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