#paperboy
She would take it down
on old crumpled receipts—
imprisoned at the bottom of
her bag.
Each laid to crooked rest next to
questionable crumbs of mystery
and a pen that leaked its
remaining potential
into scattered
Morse code all over
cheaply sewn lining.
The saving grace
of these little ragtag proofs
allowed her to
relive the moment
when his singing voice
brought all of her
dizzy moth thoughts
to a stand still.
With each coo, he
pulled on all of the right strings,
and all of the right curves
on her body turned up
in all of the right places.
Once again she
danced a smile with her eyes
and rolled her hips with her tongue
like she never
forgot how.
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 2:19 PM UTC
I was paper, a cut out wanting to be more
I cried tears of ink,
I used my finger to dry
They became
Wet,
Moist,
Sodden,
Weaker than they was before.
I could fly,
If the wind caught my frame just right
I could float for eternity
But as the window is shut tight,
So do I float down.
My features are my own
Each day I take
Pencil,
Rubber,
Imagination,
Of who I will be that day,
I was once one of the same paper
Many of us holding hands,
Unity,
Together,
Friendship,
But it doesn't always last,
Some separated themselves,
While others where torn
To old, too carry on,
Just Shredded paper
Eternally flying in the wind,
I am the last of a long line
We were brothers of the same paper
But now they are all gone,
Today I draw a sad face,
Will I let it all go,
Or carry on,
But I am the paper boy
Thinner than the cardboard ones
But I drew a heart,
In permanent marker,
It vibrates the paper
Ripple's,
Beats,
Life,
Is what I am,
I want to be more than this
But for now I am just the paper boy,
Crying tears of ink upon the floor.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 6:09 PM UTC