"Self Portrait" The darkened woman Behind a darkened cloth, Of purple. Sits through running madness Of steps spreading- Through ears. What not a neighbour, But not a friend. She sat. In a company of rusted paper And pen. Only stirs when, A mind-following voice Interupted the brussles, To question of her cup wanted filling. A refusal. And then, Rusted pen dances over iron paper, Her feelings shot then. What not a neighbour, But not a friend. She sat. Of rusted company, Just once, forever and again. About the last one: This is about me, and what I'm like, when I walk alone, as always, into a busy restaurant full of normal, busy people. I wrote this in a cafe I go to all the time, The Piano, and that's usually the case. It's busy, and I just sit in the back alone and write poems.
I am a lot like you, I go to places with paper and pen write watching the normal events ocurring around me though i am never in them myself. It's funny poeple loke us are the most understanding of others lives. Paradoxical...
I agree, it's such a great feeling to know that there are other poeple like me in the world. That just made my day... Thanks so much! And that poem is going to be in the anthology book for a poetry contest I won and that's pretty exciting!
