Of all the places
she sought to hide
She only found one
safe place inside
in dancing images
where the poetry
My mother was a writer.
I remember her,
papers spread out upon a bed sheet in the sand,
stacked pebbles protecting her work from the wind
as I made drip-castles at the water's edge
and braided crowns from wild poppies.
I would run to her so she could
rub grape sunscreen into my sandy shoulders
and I asked her once,
is that poetry?”
and she said “No little one,
you are poetry,
this only tries to be.”
and I thanked her,
and ran back to the water
to search for flat stones to skip,
and thought no more of poetry.
I feel sad whenever you get treated badly
ㅡbecause I know in myself that I would cross oceans for you.
I would cry you not just a river but a waterfall
because if it's you, then it's worth it.
I would build a house for you,
on top of the highest mountain to bring you closer to heaven,
where you belong with the angels.
I would give you all that you truly deserve and more if I can
And I feel so ******* sad when you don't get what you deserve because you,
You are the person I love most**.
I would give you the whole universe
if only you'd let me.
I feel sad because I know I can treat you better.
If I could chase you to the beginning
I'd relive the start
Then remember to slow down
At all of our favourite parts
How interesting is it that
We are so quick
To sacrifice our sanity
In the belief that others can
Hold up our sky?
"i'm used to being someone's almost,"
he confessed to the hollow of her neck.
"well now you can be my always,"
she whispered back.