Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Dec 2015
your mother remembers the
day you fell from the sky

"my shooting star," she said

but she always knew you would burn yourself out

your skeleton is the kind
that leave archaeologists begging for
more

remember to dust off your ribcage
every now and then
polish it with kindness
and let them rest

your heart is tired
of being bruised
it is worn
it is messy

hang your heaviness on the coat rack
leave your map in the passenger seat
and bury your sorrow in the garden

home is not another person
it is within you
ok
Written by
ok  Missouri
(Missouri)   
295
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems