i have a light inside of me.
sometimes it is a prickly light.
like last summer's berry picking,
and your legs in the back of his pick up.
sometimes it is a drowning light.
like your third cheap beer,
and jeans on the fourth of july.
sometimes it is a dim light.
like the pretty dress he never hugged you in,
and the bruises all down your thigh.
sometimes it is a calm light.
like the first long drag off your cigarette,
and a dry kiss on the cheek.
sometimes it is a beautiful light,
like a palm pushing out from your stomach,
and the long road out of this town.
Jul 16, 2011
Jul 16, 2011 at 5:54 PM UTC
i have a light inside of me.
sometimes it is a prickly light.
like last summer's berry picking,
and your legs in the back of his pick up.
sometimes it is a drowning light.
like your third cheap beer,
and jeans on the fourth of july.
sometimes it is a dim light.
like the pretty dress he never hugged you in,
and the bruises all down your thigh.
sometimes it is a calm light.
like the first long drag off your cigarette,
and a dry kiss on the cheek.
sometimes it is a beautiful light,
like a palm pushing out from your stomach,
and the long road out of this town.
Request permission to use this poem