21.11.21
21:30
winter comes and i sleep with the windows open. you, the sun, wake me before the terrible part of the dream begins. you give me no false promises. you give me a brief and small offering. and i take it. i open my mouth. i extend my arms. i think: one day i will write poetry about this. one day i will dream of it. today i am closing my eyes against it. time: with your hands like ocean tides could you stop and breathe for a weary woman like me? while i tread through this singular and nimble life
and if not please give me all the light you have. bottle it up. send it in jars, in packages, in postcards. and here i thought salvation was a thing of the holy but i have done nothing and still the sun comes up on my back. my wounds bandaged. my heart aglow in the gentle light. i landed so neatly when i fell from that great height called love. i almost did not feel my feet gracing the ground. i almost did not feel the breeze guiding me back to shore. to the maker watching me gently in the morning, take note. you can move on. i have lived.
YOU ARE READING
words don't come that easy.
PoetryI've tried. but i've always failed to contain these thousand words in a few sentences, maybe im bad at expressing macro feelings in the few words that I'm limited to. you might think you know me enough because it's been a long time since i first wav...
