Untitled

Untitled Taylor

Is me just a word, is it a personality, or is me a mate to I? Is it a name or a game, or just a characteristic? Is me a question not being answered? Yet all these questions have answers right in front of them. These questions never see the reply, so they wonder, and wonder, and wonder, until they are not questions anymore. They are just pieces of writing, written on a sheet of paper. Me is yourself written in a different language, a language some mistake for simpleness.

Simpleness is a language most take for granted. It's weird writing about only one word, but what about all the rest of these words on this page, are they simpleness too? Does anything even have to make sense to be a poem? Does this writing piece even make sense? Are you being trapped with just words? What about when you say words to people? Hurtful, painful words to people? They aren't words anymore; those words affect people and the way they think. Watch what you say because words aren't words when you hurt people with them.