Violet Winters Poems
- Between The Lines Don’t read my work and claim to ...
- A Serial Killer In Love I've grown increasingly needy and ...
- In A Cupcake's Shoes Cupcakes are meant to be ...
- Grace's Poem I wanna be your Wrangler jeans. Clinging, to...
- Luncheon Today was awkward to say the least. It was all I ...
- Cards On The Table If we're dating let me start by saying, ...
- Black Shoe polish, nail polish, ravens and crows. Squished...
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Between The Lines
Don’t read my work
and claim to see
something that there may not be.
Don’t shred my words
and break my prose,
and pick through for
what you think you know.
A writer doesn’t write for you.
A writer writes like flowers dew;
Overnight, or through the day,
we perspire what we need to say.
It trickles out, we collect those drops,
arranging them neatly
in an intangible box.
And when we find
we’ve found enough,
we take that box
and empty this stuff.
We carve into paper,
the mind's imagery,