This poem is everything
I didn’t erase
The sea I swam until
the shore was closer
than drowning.
My mind took so many detours.
I ran toward the sun,
become tangled in why
I didn’t do the dishes,
wondered if my bookshelf
had one more space for Apocalyptic.
Sitting in the litter of what
I couldn’t complete I question
if this is poetry or confession.
Tuesday has way more ink
than I have words for paper.
Aug 19, 2025
Aug 19, 2025 at 2:23 PM UTC
This poem is everything
I didn’t erase
The sea I swam until
the shore was closer
than drowning.
My mind took so many detours.
I ran toward the sun,
become tangled in why
I didn’t do the dishes,
wondered if my bookshelf
had one more space for Apocalyptic.
Sitting in the litter of what
I couldn’t complete I question
if this is poetry or confession.
Tuesday has way more ink
than I have words for paper.
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