You speak
different languages
between
the morning
and
the night,
and I love
the way
my name
sounds
in every
single
one
of them.
(Happy Valentine’s Day.)
Tag: language
Growth
You either
grow
flowers
or
weeds,
and you only
have so much
water.
Movement
With a thousand poems,
I try to tell you
how I feel about you,
but, with every failed lyric,
it’s clearer that
my passion
can only be expressed
with movement.
On Fire
But how
can you
put fire
in my veins
and tell me
you don’t like
the smell
of smoke?
Firestone Friday: Poem XVI
We’re all full of holes,
trying, desperately, to become wholes —
swelling, inserting, filling ourselves
with things as dispensable as they are harmful,
and we look over our
needles, nicotine, nudity, and nights
only long enough to wage
merciless judgments against
our neighbor’s holes-filler.
–Strong Language by Logan Gorg
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Mocked
Can you beleive
how they mock me
for the way that I speak?
“Logan uses big words now.”
There’s nothing so
beautifully individual
as one’s pattern of speech,
the path to self-expression,
the words that hang on your lips,
whispering to the listener
the secrets about who you are
and where you’ve been.
It’s ok if I’m sad,
but weird if I’m morose or sullen.
It’s normal if I’m happy
but too much if I’m euphoric.
I won’t reduce my language
just so that you like the sound if it.
(I don’t, and would not, hurl insults at another’s self-expression, and I won’t carry shame — or ignominy, if you don’t mind — for mine.)
Touchstone Tuesday: Poem IX
I edit my work,
but not early
as often
as my work
edits me.
