Writer's Disposal
Hurt and tense are writer's slaves
So she'll slash through page by page
Burning holes with vivid tongue
Still the feeling strikes as young
Through and through this time again
Misery welcomes her like a friend
Slash and slash and through and through
She spells her feelings as if they're new
Instead of skin she beats a page
A healthy cure, sure, lest she names
These demons, the things that she writes about
That she names other names to give them doubts
Things like this she knows all too well
Her hurts and pains often etch the spell
Before she even thinks to open her eyes
She's solved her feelings with a metaphor for cries
These nameless names named through and through
She possibly could be writing of you
And name you a snake; what harm is there in that?
Proof, invalid; your name is intact
These nameless things she knows all too well
You might not know but help etch her spell
Because intended or vicious, her works are neither
You'd ask what they're about; but she might not know either
poem by Dayna Mortimore
Added by Poetry Lover
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