words are magic

I've had a lot of poems recently. Which is good, because I was beginning to feel like the poems were beginning to fade into quotes, single words, and stories. But there is something about poems that let words actually become what they want to become.

I'm probably only making sense to myself, but that's okay. That's all I need for now.

Here's one of the said recent poems:

Why I Got to Sleep so Late

I am not a sleeper.

But I dearly love to dream.

But shutting down--

It wouldn't work.

And I wondered

How he'd been.

Then my brother came,

And for a while, we just spoke.

But he laid down.

(He does hard work)

And my pen--

it met my book.

That was last night. I hadn't seen Sean in a while, and he came to my room late last night as I was about to go to sleep. I didn't go to sleep for another hour, because of talking with Sean, and then waking Sean up. Then writing a poem.

I've been thinking a lot about words recently. Words are really important to me. In a way that I don't fully understand. The best part is, the words themselves can't help me to describe it. It's kind of magic.

Words, words, words.

Josie