Oct 2018
Your patchy, stubble beard
grinds on my cheek.
My eyelids shutting,
you carry me to the kitchen.
I admit I am missing the rest of the film.
My childhood
slipping through the grips of my hand,
like silk or sand.
You would never gauge
what i'd do to go back in time.
grinds on my cheek.
My eyelids shutting,
you carry me to the kitchen.
I admit I am missing the rest of the film.
My childhood
slipping through the grips of my hand,
like silk or sand.
You would never gauge
what i'd do to go back in time.
It seems as if the more I write poetry, the more I become vulnerable. Thank you to all who read my poems. I thank you for stepping into the reality.
I will pay you all back by acknowledging your reality.
Peace and love to all of you
I will pay you all back by acknowledging your reality.
Peace and love to all of you
(15/M/Ohio)
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