What I meant to write

~Eldest Daughter (April 29, 1989- )

        I am not a poet: I am a fountain
words run through my veins like fire and blood
        like a bird I am filled up with song
        and my mouth is an unskilled beak.

In the stomach of my mind I hold the words I knew last night
I will turn them and beat
                                                                                      them and
then I will let them drip
                                                  from the ends of
my fingers.
On the straight-ruled page they will lose their shape...

That was not what I meant to write.