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misha-lantzPoems
The glass is smooth but smudged, the automatic click of yes or no inside my mind, the tick goes off, nothing I think, but fingers glide across the screen regardless of what anybody really means or wants. There is no whole to be a part of, nor are we one whole on our own, no spectrum showing measures of ourselves exists that accurately lists our follies and the ways they came to be, the things we did and sought, how we succeeded, failed and fought through times of pressure soldered to our heels. The yes or no, swipe left or right, is surface to the person in your palm you hold. It's valuable insight we seek to know, not murky glass between two pools of depths unknown.
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Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 11:18 PM UTC
Tinder
The glass is smooth but smudged, the automatic click of yes or no inside my mind, the tick goes off, nothing I think, but fingers glide across the screen regardless of what anybody really means or wants. There is no whole to be a part of, nor are we one whole on our own, no spectrum showing measures of ourselves exists that accurately lists our follies and the ways they came to be, the things we did and sought, how we succeeded, failed and fought through times of pressure soldered to our heels. The yes or no, swipe left or right, is surface to the person in your palm you hold. It's valuable insight we seek to know, not murky glass between two pools of depths unknown.
Written by
misha-lantz
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 11:18 PM UTC
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