Poetry / Us Writers

Amelia.
Is right next to me.
On my bed.
Not naked,
clothed,
writing
in her journal
probably about the events happening right now.
Quaint isn’t it:
us writers loving each other so.

Our words coming out in unison.
Verbs, nouns, adjectives making fervent love to one another;
adverbs finding their verbs, modifying each other into ardent glee.

Pen depressions matching key strokes.

You left. Now I am left,
alone,
with just my keyboard
and my imagination.
I could create false memories of us,
but I won’t; I like the real ones.
I like their imperfections even.
Our fights, fears, and falsehoods fuel my prose and poetry.
A creation of a false memory would sully
not only us,
but this.

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Reviews

January 12, 2007

white_rabbit

No. of Reviews	Overall Quality	Comment Followup
6	100.0% (1 votes)	33.3%

personal info reviewer stats

Age	Gender	Location	Last Login
20	F	Guam	May 16

white_rabbit reviewed Version 1 - Read 100%% of the Item

I like how you got really personal without making a big deal about it.

It’s not full of ridiculous sentiments, I mean.
Kudos!

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January 09, 2007

whiteGreen

No. of Reviews	Overall Quality	Comment Followup
9	0.0% (0 votes)	25.9%

personal info reviewer stats

Age	Gender	Location	Last Login
20	M	Lawrenceville, GA	February 11

whiteGreen reviewed Version 1 - Read 100%% of the Item

Good job with this one. I will say though that i got a little thrown out of the flow of things when i read “You left. Now I am left,
alone,
with just my keyboard
and my imagination.”

Its got good meaning but i felt like the words stumbled over each other a little bit. Kind of like traffic, your still moving but not as well.

Then you pulled it back together and it ended on a good note.