Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
kallyPoems
you come in like fog in the early morning before i know it, i'm lost again i try to rub the sleep from my eyes, but i soon realize that the opacity isn't external. the mystery includes the following: your whereabouts how you wear your hair the fullness of your kitchen sink and also of your heart how often you chew the collar of your shirt which channels you watch what time you go to bed and if i'm bound to run into you again someday -- she sits on a park bench wishing to be back in bed, wishing to be back home, wishing to be strong enough to let him go. -- "a couple months is nothing in the big scheme of things" she reminds herself of this every time she lies in bed, both at night when she pulls the covers more tightly around her and in the morning when she wakes. "a couple months is nothing when we have forever ahead of us" -- she broke three nails while tying her shoes. her headphones broke during her run. the shower wouldn't get warm enough. she bumped her hip into the table, the stack of mail fell to the floor. her pantry was empty. and on the calendar, hanging on the wall, was a date marked: September 18 'Baby comes home from Texas' underneath, small scratchings read: 'make sure to buy some wine'
0
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 4:09 PM UTC
reminders
you come in like fog in the early morning before i know it, i'm lost again i try to rub the sleep from my eyes, but i soon realize that the opacity isn't external. the mystery includes the following: your whereabouts how you wear your hair the fullness of your kitchen sink and also of your heart how often you chew the collar of your shirt which channels you watch what time you go to bed and if i'm bound to run into you again someday -- she sits on a park bench wishing to be back in bed, wishing to be back home, wishing to be strong enough to let him go. -- "a couple months is nothing in the big scheme of things" she reminds herself of this every time she lies in bed, both at night when she pulls the covers more tightly around her and in the morning when she wakes. "a couple months is nothing when we have forever ahead of us" -- she broke three nails while tying her shoes. her headphones broke during her run. the shower wouldn't get warm enough. she bumped her hip into the table, the stack of mail fell to the floor. her pantry was empty. and on the calendar, hanging on the wall, was a date marked: September 18 'Baby comes home from Texas' underneath, small scratchings read: 'make sure to buy some wine'
kally
Written by
kally
American
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 4:09 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem