Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
So many little ***** hands reaching out for an empty watering can. The pipe always seems to be closer than it looks. I shut my eyes tight sometimes and let my fingers find a rhythm or lose myself to the whirr. I forget to meditate, or write things down, I browse IG, fall into pattern of searching for familiar names. I find deals online and shop away the panic Settling in, it’s replaced with commercial anticipation- instant gratification- Jesus ******* Christ I can’t even type with my headphones on, this car is always the obnoxious one I never learn. It’s the closest to the stairwell but I guess I always hope that people would consider That roosters haven’t even crowed yet And maybe whisper?
0
Oct 29, 2019
Oct 29, 2019 at 11:59 PM UTC
Feed the Baby
So many little ***** hands reaching out for an empty watering can. The pipe always seems to be closer than it looks. I shut my eyes tight sometimes and let my fingers find a rhythm or lose myself to the whirr. I forget to meditate, or write things down, I browse IG, fall into pattern of searching for familiar names. I find deals online and shop away the panic Settling in, it’s replaced with commercial anticipation- instant gratification- Jesus ******* Christ I can’t even type with my headphones on, this car is always the obnoxious one I never learn. It’s the closest to the stairwell but I guess I always hope that people would consider That roosters haven’t even crowed yet And maybe whisper?
tntcl
Written by
Oct 29, 2019
Oct 29, 2019 at 11:59 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem