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Beloved Secrecy

I carry my notebook
with me
everywhere I go
because without the words
I'm just a lonesome dropout
looking for a body to love
I feel bad
when I read Bukowski.
His legacy
is well-built and strong
he would have said,
'You're crazy. And maybe beautiful.
But this fight
is one of the hardest
you will ever face.'
That's what writing is:
A fight.
I'm small
feeble
and weak-hearted
but words
are my favorite
weapon
and they are my best
defense mechanism
'Hey Buk, ' I'd say
'I'm tired of being cruel
and pretending I'm the
victim.'
This love thing,
I'm only nineteen
and I've felt it
with three different people,
maybe four.
I'm waiting
on a handwritten letter
from a man
out in Calgary
in his words:
'I like you Miss Vanessa,
you carry that gene
that piques my ever
diverted interest.'
In other words:
We are going to
fall in love.
We met by chance.
On account of what I believe
was fate tapping me on the shoulder
saying, 'This was meant to happen.'
He told me we'd go away together
and there is nothing
I love more than
the idea
of
getting away.

poem by Vanessa Grixti
Added by Poetry Lover
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