And I Walked For Hours The Mist

Josh Turns To Me. “i Can’t Believe She’s Writing These Things.” “not She,” I Say. “me.” “why Would Anyone Say This Stuff About Themselves On The Internet? It’s Crazy!” “exactly,” I Say. “i’m Going To Be Mentally Ill In Fifteen Years, And That’s Why My Husband Doesn’t Want To Be Around Me.

Rejection Always Hurts, But Having It Come From My Best Friend Was The Worst.

I’m Going To Be Mentally Ill In Fifteen Years, And That’s Why My Husband Doesn’t Want To Be Around Me.

Josh Will Begin Disappearing Into A Future Where The Only Place He And I Remain Friends Is On The Internet.

That’s What I Love About Poetry. The More Abstract, The Better. The Stuff Were Your Not Sure What The Poets Talking About. You May Have An Idea, But You Cant Be Sure. Not A Hundred Percent. Each Word, Specifically Chosen, Could Have A Million Different Meanings. Is It A Stand-in ―a Symbol For Another Idea? Does It Fit Into A Larger, More Hidden, Metaphor? ...i Hated Poetry Until Someone Showed Me How To Appreciate It. He Told Me To See Poetry As A Puzzle. Its Up To The Reader To Decipher The Code, Or The Words, Based On Everything They Know About Life And Emotions.