I pour it all onto the blank page
my best friend for several years.
What I tell the pages is unacceptable,
boundary-breaking, against the norms.
But the pages don't have prejudices
like you do, like I do, like the world does.
I couldn't tell a single soul what I tell the pages
but once it's on paper
it's art, it's poetry, it's beautiful.
Then it's out there,
disguised as something else,
something the Mr. and Mrs. can digest.
Isn't that what art is all about?
Expressing feelings you can't say out loud
give them a concrete art form
and your innermost feelings, your dark secrets,
your memories, your curses
can all came out
and they make you famous.
Isn't that ironic?

Poetry by Lea Foverskov
Read 519 times
Written on 2007-06-12 at 15:21

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great write and I must confess that I do relate to what your saying here for thats the way I look at it too.I love the way you say it all here without saying alot very much enjoyed thanks for the pleasure of this true poetic form of writting skills.

So very true, as in the case of Evard Munch in "The Scream" even though they say he was having a breakdown at the time, he will always be remembered for this work then any other I think, Excellent writing, keep up the good work.