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alastur-beritPoems
The girl next to me Hasn’t made eye contact This whole ride We haven’t exchanged words, So I review my own. Oh the words of a younger me! Scratch a dent in the sand Before the tide comes in Tickling my mind and A little grating But still cute and quaint A heart drawn with a stick Before being washed away Oh the body of an older me! I am too aware of Growing moles And fat A stereotype wrapped in personality cracking as the story of me Slowly sets in Oh the idea of future me! who knows the amount of blank left to fill? I know nothing but that Slowly I am learning To take up space This train keeps stopping And we are granted views of construction trucks Pallets Stone walls And our own thoughts Bodies shrugged over seats like sweaters Boredom leaking out through pores Flooding this compartment As stagnant as a puddle Yet, Being a passenger The view ever shifting scenery somehow stills time for me Making space for sentimentality Contemplating Loving deeply now scraps of fabric Seeming so unimportant on their own But together forming a quilt Who knew? My love language is Sewing Piecing together Quiet moments Cleaning sinks of dishes Scheduling our dreams Making fun of reality Tv Trivia - don’t forget missionary Made less and less of grand adventure And more of our home While these dreams once seemed So small they serve To cover us And keep us warm Through the winter of the world.
0
Oct 23, 2023
Oct 23, 2023 at 4:22 PM UTC
Train Ride
The girl next to me Hasn’t made eye contact This whole ride We haven’t exchanged words, So I review my own. Oh the words of a younger me! Scratch a dent in the sand Before the tide comes in Tickling my mind and A little grating But still cute and quaint A heart drawn with a stick Before being washed away Oh the body of an older me! I am too aware of Growing moles And fat A stereotype wrapped in personality cracking as the story of me Slowly sets in Oh the idea of future me! who knows the amount of blank left to fill? I know nothing but that Slowly I am learning To take up space This train keeps stopping And we are granted views of construction trucks Pallets Stone walls And our own thoughts Bodies shrugged over seats like sweaters Boredom leaking out through pores Flooding this compartment As stagnant as a puddle Yet, Being a passenger The view ever shifting scenery somehow stills time for me Making space for sentimentality Contemplating Loving deeply now scraps of fabric Seeming so unimportant on their own But together forming a quilt Who knew? My love language is Sewing Piecing together Quiet moments Cleaning sinks of dishes Scheduling our dreams Making fun of reality Tv Trivia - don’t forget missionary Made less and less of grand adventure And more of our home While these dreams once seemed So small they serve To cover us And keep us warm Through the winter of the world.
On a train ride, thinking about how different I am now, and how much my dreams have changed. I love trains. I wish the person next to me would acknowledge me.
alastur-berit
Written by
alastur-berit
Canadian
Oct 23, 2023
Oct 23, 2023 at 4:22 PM UTC
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