I, A Poet

The part of me that fancies myself a poet every once in a while wrote a poem during math class today. The part of me that is an egoist would like to share this with the Internet.

Seriously though, if I’m being serious and taking a more serious tone in all seriousness, I really enjoy writing poems. They are so beautiful and free and structure-less and soul-bearing. And sort of like therapy. I also think that there is something extremely lovely about a handwritten poem. It feels like the hand is acting as an interpreter for the heart, and the handwriting and the scratching out and scribbling shows that this interpretation is not always smooth and clear. The language of the heart is not always directly translatable to English.

So, here is a pic of the notebook page that I composed on, as well as a typed out fully English-zised version.

Please excuse the pretentiousness of this post- I have this disorder where I sometimes think I’m Shakespeare.

OxOx, Amy Rebecca

A Softer Side

There’s a softer side of me

That the world doesnt get to see

I shut it up inside

Down, deep within my soul

But every now and then

When I’m alone and still

My heart leaks from its bounds

My face becomes a window

For my inner self

And only for a moment

I’m open to the world.

Then that moment passes

My soul descends within

The shudders come together

I’m cold and tense again

But in the one sweet moment

I have but one deep wish

To find someone to share

Those few soft moments with


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