by Mysteree

(the obliteration of me and my pen/an ode for Catina)

I used to be a writer
I used to be able to pen every thought I had with ease
The expression of a painter with colors so vivid and brilliant
Words that flowed off the page like a woodwind instrument’s melody
You’ve come into my world and have disrupted my course
With your presence I am stuck
Wanting to be with you and needing to be near you
makes me vulnerable to…
There are so many emotions that dance inside of me
and while you are inside of me……I smile, I cry, I sigh
You’ve penetrated my person and pierced my soul
with who you are
Who are you? Where did you come from?
If everything happens for a reason
What is the explanation for you coming into my life?
How long will you abide?
So many questions that I leave unanswered
Only to relish you in spirit and in flesh
My words do no justice to what I feel about you
They are mere letters that form meaningless words that try
to make sense of this……thing
I used to be a writer
but you’ve come into my space
and now my pages are blank with thought
My words have been reduced to nothing and
only thoughts of you exist
Most days I can’t even speak of the things you make me feel
Only feeling and wondering and hoping and dreaming
of when I could carve the most delicate phrases
so effortlessly from my mind to describe what I felt
and now I only have thoughts of you and when
I used to be a writer

Copyright © 2004. Used by permission of author. All Rights Reserved.

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