Typed Music


I suppose these are just little pieces of me, wrapped up in words.

The forgotten melodies of my mind.


18. Published

I know I should be happy
I should shout my minor glory
At ears that don’t want to hear
But, in truth, I feel naked.
I am exposed.
It’s the first time that my words are made of printer’s ink
Not pixels
And I’m scared by the idea
That I cannot simply click delete
When I’ve begun to hate them
Because you will have already claimed
The inky pieces of me that you found
And my words will cling to you
Like lipstick stains.

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