Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Aug 2012
Somewhere I'm being reborn,
without my hands repeating rituals.
Forget my earlier days,
I only learned how to cry.
I'm not returning, for its forbidden.
Take what you've sold,
for what I carry is no longer for profit.
What I leave behind,
won't sink, won't ship.
Find itself in its usual hiding place,
beneath the filth,
waiting for my return.
erin anderson
Written by
erin anderson  Canada
(Canada)   
702
   st64
Please log in to view and add comments on poems