Poem: Inkwell


Lines trail out my veins,
along my skin and down my arms,
razor-sharp across my wrists
pooling, spooling in my hands.
I pluck the line, wrap it gently
into words, swooping them across the page
exposing on paper what my lips
wouldn’t dare whisper to my own heart.

Blood-soaked thread
looped to form expressions
of my heartbeat, a wringing
of my soul, laid bare on tree pulp
reviving the pages,
my heartstring coursing along the sheets.
I snip the thread, tie it in a bow,
change the pronouns to she so
no one will know it’s me.


  1. // Reply

    I love how visual this piece is and how it invites the reader to read it out loud to feel the words and hear their rhythm.

    Very well done! 🙂

    1. // Reply

      😊 Oh, thank you so much! That’s fun to hear that it draws you in to want to read it aloud. I’ve read other people’s poems and felt that draw, so it’s exciting that someone feels that about my poem.

    1. // Reply

      Thank you, Aka! I’m at a family reunion, so I’m a bit slow on responding, but I was happy to see you stopped by!

  2. // Reply

    ‘I snip the thread, tie it in a bow,
    change the pronouns to she so
    no one will know it’s me.’

    Mandie, your words flow like a river and this visual piece was magnificent!

  3. // Reply

    I love your poems, Mandie…you do a great job of evoking emotion.

    1. // Reply

      Thank you, Red. I put a lot of emotion into a great deal of my writing, so it is rewarding and satisfying to hear that it comes across.

    1. // Reply

      Thanks, Björn. One of the things that I love about fiction is that the writer put his or her heart and soul into it, and whether the scenes in it are completely fictitious or are infused with the writer’s own life, it comes together to tell a story that resonates with other people and maybe helped the writer in working out something. And through the writer being vulnerable in their work, maybe the reader was able to learn something and work through his or her own problem too.

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