She wishes she was a cave,
So she could echo back,
Her poetry,
On paper,
Or maybe leprechaun,
Could summon her writer spirit,
And she would bleed,
On paper,
Like before,
When she felt weightless,
Like paper,
And free like the wind.
©Cathy Devan
Jul 17, 2021
Jul 17, 2021 at 3:40 PM UTC