Maybe I'Ve Grown, Just a Little
**This poem is a letter to another poem I wrote years ago titled "They Come Out at Night" which I'll post in a bit.**
I wrote a poem yesterday
but it didn't feel the same.
These words don't bounce,
lightening-quick, across the pages
anymore.
I take pauses where sparks
once flew.
I think too much now,
or maybe I don't think enough.
Questions are dangerous
to entertain,
and emotions are battle fields
better left unvisited.
I think I've even forgotten
how to tango with my ghosts,
and weren't they always my
favorite source of inspiration?
At 33,
I feel like I've written it all.
And then words come back to me,
soft as a wing.
These words
pull their shades closed at night,
and say a rosary before turning out the lights.
These words,
feel aged,
like they know better,
like they won't take anymore
of your ****.
Copyright © Feli Elizab | Year Posted 2015
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