Elbalien

It’s really difficult to write poetry.
Even more difficult once it’s done
because I hate how it sounds
clunky
imperfect
broken down like a car that just won’t stop creaking when it moves

Do cars even do that

See, I hate how it reads once it’s done
days later
minutes later
and weeks later

But,

When I was writing it
I was also saying it
feeling it
reading it
Mesmerised by what I could see as the words slipped from only two fingers


And in that voice and sound and elbalien time

Manner of soft gushing moments
Why do I hate it when it’s done

Oh and elbalien isn’t a word. I wanted to say countless plus beautiful and I didn’t know a word.
I knew how I wanted it to sound.

Sounds like rough-soft elbows touching each other while you lay on grass.
Mind you, the weather is lovely. No rain. Just breeze. 


And I hate it, once its done.