I remember now,
how my dirty ideas stood on the threshold of your eyes
and how you asked me to clean the words
before you could let them inside.
...
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This poem has the beautiful intensity of a fragile soul, Which is what a true poet is; and when our words are treated Without an honest attempt for understanding, it feels like murder, Good write, Amberlee.
No comments for this one? I find it beautiful, wonderful, crystal-clear. A wonderful description of an experience we've all had, of misplaced trust. A couple spelling errors or typos, 'blasphemy', for one. (as learned about my own work, typos stop the flow of a mind contemplating the poem, they interrupt the continuity.)
And I understand that sticks and stones can hurt. Joe