I started scribbling poetry in the margins and gaps of One Hundred Years of Solitude.. I can't help if it's mushy or absurdly fiery and shit ok, Marquez has that affect on me, so don't judge:
In my youth,
passionate,
restless,
unrequited love burns
in my heart
as though it has been licked
by the two-pronged tongue
of a dragon.
Searing holes
unlike arteries
until my heart is nothing more
than rotten fruit,
worm-eaten
and useless
(from the inside out).
A bad apple,
you might say.
Locked up for a rainy day
that is destined never to come,
my heart awaits relief
the stubborn clouds
are unwilling to provide.
Looking to the sky,
the heavens are no help.
Instead I dress myself up
in the image of happiness
and resort to a rain dance
until the sky will comply.
Perhaps this is only youth,
passionate,
restless.
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2 comments:
Anything that inspires you to write this, I wanna read. I just bought it, and sounds as though you approve of Marquez?
Mushy shit can be good shit.
Marquez is probably my favourite author. And yes he is incredible. This book is so good. I started yesterday, and I read 110 pages. Laura you know that that is like, a miracle, for me. I haven't been able to read like that all year.
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