Good Stubborn poem Won’t rub out Stains your fingers Wets your mouth Rate this:Share this:ShareTweetShare on TumblrPocketPrintTelegramWhatsAppEmailLike this:Like Loading... Related
And, as always, it’s the words in our heads who make us who and what we are. LikeLiked by 1 person Reply
Yes, and sometimes or most of the time it’s so difficult to tell that that is the case that it’s sorta like not knowing. How is it so clear to you? LikeLike Reply
Because I listen very, very carefully and I live in an isolated place (which makes it easier to hear). LikeLiked by 1 person Reply
I appriciate this call to attention. I’ll try to arrange some silence to listen and figure out who and what my thoughts make me and what I do and don’t choose to be. I’ll start now LikeLike Reply
waywardspirit 
And, as always, it’s the words in our heads who make us who and what we are.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes, and sometimes or most of the time it’s so difficult to tell that that is the case that it’s sorta like not knowing. How is it so clear to you?
LikeLike
Because I listen very, very carefully and I live in an isolated place (which makes it easier to hear).
LikeLiked by 1 person
I appriciate this call to attention.
I’ll try to arrange some silence to listen and figure out who and what my thoughts make me and what I do and don’t choose to be. I’ll start now
LikeLike
I hate when a poem I’m writing misbehaves and just won’t listen.
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Yes poems are wild things.
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