Journals Poem by R.S. Farris
Journals
I am one of those who write in journals knowing,
somewhere inside, that we really want someone to
read this. Not blatantly, but somehow, some
way, we want someone to know. Why else would we
write it down? Sometimes the readers are only ourselves,
changed by days, years, or even hours, changed
into different people who can read objectively what we
wrote back then.
Sometimes the readers don’t exist.
What would it be like if there was someone you could really
talk to, someone you could tell all the
things you only write in your journal and scratch out later?
What if that person would still love you, even
after hearing all your insecurities, stupidities—what if that
person could still love you?
Sometimes the readers don’t exist. What would it be like if there was someone you could really talk to, someone you could tell all the things you only write in your journal and scratch out later? you write lovely like a robe on a sweet rober of kisses and a tab of verses
This is my fav of your poems so far... especially the second half! It really strikes the heart of your intended emotion/feeling... very nice.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/16/2024 11:54:19 AM # 1.0.0.1119
ditto the Bandwagoner on this one-I like the sentiment. Captures exactly why I journal and poemize. Maybe I'll write a poem with a shoutout to this one, carrying the idea into my own little world. Great mood setting. -landrey