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SentimentallyScared — Pass.
Published: 2007-07-18 19:40:07 +0000 UTC; Views: 435; Favourites: 1; Downloads: 20
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Description
I never remember which day it is,I try to catch them as they flicker past;
Paintbrush clutched desperately in hand,
Trying to paint a little definition,
Perhaps then they won’t fly so fast,
While weighed down with some sort of significance.
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Comments: 10
It happens to all of us. At least you can admit to it.
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Oh, I'll admit to anything, given the chance.
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Well, I certainly believe this is a feeling we can all relate to and you as an uninspired writer - I'd say it fits together very well.
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Honesty is always good, but there is a definite reluctance in this poem.
How hypocritical is that? To hesistate in a poem about honesty?
Come on, love. I don't care if it's the worst poem ever written (and I guarantee it won't be), I want to read something raw and real and undeniable. Something that is redeemed by the feeling if not the writing... I know you're capable of something significant.
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I will see what I can do for you, for me, I am so unused to writing, it feels alien now, I used to write so frequently. I hardly ever feel creative. I wrote to day to write, but there was no passion, no desire.
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That is unforgivable. I know you have words, love. Stop trying to hold on. *tender 
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Stop trying to hold on and let go, or just hold on?
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