VIII.
there is a monster under my bed.
he is too afraid to wander,
even at night.
i coax him with a warm blanket and a cup of hot chocolate.
we become best friends.
B
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fifteen (XV)
Poetryi prick my finger on a rose in my garden. my blood is not red. i take the wind caressing my face as a silent apology. cover art made by doradorapuff on tumblr. [2015] thank you to everyone who shared with me these short poems as they were published...
VIII.
VIII.
there is a monster under my bed.
he is too afraid to wander,
even at night.
i coax him with a warm blanket and a cup of hot chocolate.
we become best friends.
B
