A burning heart, encased, in a lonsdaleite of ice
Glacial paced, as I phase, through the threshold
Of each and every emotion.
Lingering, on each and every one,
Deliberate attempts to iron out the wrinkles
That undo years of my character terraforming;
I only have one vessel, learnt to love it
Learnt to make it more than habitable;
You’d best believe that I will not let anyone deter me
From making the most of it.
– O.D. ©2018
Art by: yuumei
The other day someone told me that my writing is too dramatic/exaggerated. I’d like to believe in the realm of poetry there is no such thing as being “too dramatic” or taking things “too literally”. The day someone puts a gauge on expression, well, it’s no longer expression. I love poetry because at the end of the day I do not need to explain myself. Also, over the years it has helped me see who reads my poetry at surface value.
Indeed, when you read what I write, you take what you see; you can assume what you see as the definitive version. There is no problem with that, it just gets a little weird when a third party starts insisting on what you meant. In the realm of poetry, there is a power I believe other poets can understand. There is a way we see the world that no one else can; perhaps that pushes people the wrong way.
But do we care?