Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
Of course, these things happen You forget where the light switch is, so you sit in the dark for a while trying to figure out why the room doesn't feel so bright. People are faulty, they crack and shatter, like crystal glass. Sparkling and singing until they are collapsing on the floor at 3 A.M for no good reason other than a flash of a memory, that they thought they had forgotten. You tasted like something I wanted to be better for, I could feel all of the room to grow, grow to meet your years, and your lips so far above mine but it would be solo-growing and I have always needed a hand to hold. I wish I could know myself the way, my girl knows me, and I could tell myself what to do, because it's easier to hear the words, when you aren't pretending you don't feel them. Maybe I handled this carelessly, my hands have a tendency to shake when I feel things deeply, throw everything in front of me before properly assessing the fall. I miss my home, with mountains and trees, where the smell of pine clears your thoughts but my home is burning. and so am I
0
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 1:23 AM UTC
Interlude
Of course, these things happen You forget where the light switch is, so you sit in the dark for a while trying to figure out why the room doesn't feel so bright. People are faulty, they crack and shatter, like crystal glass. Sparkling and singing until they are collapsing on the floor at 3 A.M for no good reason other than a flash of a memory, that they thought they had forgotten. You tasted like something I wanted to be better for, I could feel all of the room to grow, grow to meet your years, and your lips so far above mine but it would be solo-growing and I have always needed a hand to hold. I wish I could know myself the way, my girl knows me, and I could tell myself what to do, because it's easier to hear the words, when you aren't pretending you don't feel them. Maybe I handled this carelessly, my hands have a tendency to shake when I feel things deeply, throw everything in front of me before properly assessing the fall. I miss my home, with mountains and trees, where the smell of pine clears your thoughts but my home is burning. and so am I
portland-grace
Written by
23/F/American
Sep 21, 2015
Sep 21, 2015 at 1:23 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem