 |
| from http://www.juvenile-in-justice.com/ o |
I am over and over
I reoccur.
my wounds have their own scars
my tattoos have stories.
I cannot speak
I only repeat.
until the thin skin that protects me
haunts me. That itch never goes.
it's here and here and here.
it hurts.
over and over. And I scratch.
and the itch remains.
and I start over.
again. I reoccur.
always.
and over and over and forever.
ReplyDeleteDear Something Katy,
I love your style and it reminds me of the Turkish poet Orhan Veli Kanık.Fine Days
( selcukerez@gmail.com)
Fine days (by Kanık)
These fine days have been my ruin.
On this kind of day I resigned
My job in "Pious Foundations.''
On this kind of day I started to smoke
On this kind of day I fell in love
On this kind of day I forgot
To bring home bread and salt
On this kind of day I had a relapse
In my versifying disease.
These fine days have been my ruin.
(translated by Bernard Lewis)