My feet crooked pointed awry,
From standing on my tippy toes at age five.
So when you held me by the waist and twirled me around,
I gasped because my ankles were tangled around my thighs.
Praying silently from my head to the saints of mercy,
That you wouldn't see my clumsy moves,
Like a fountain of dry spirits to souls who were not half thirsty.
I have chipped nails, jagged, hangnail meat on every finger,
From nervous chattering teeth that refuse to be calm,
My body does linger onto your powerful hold,
My wrist sweating inside your palm.
My untold secrets no longer untold but opened,
Up to the very last page of sage, rage, depraved, concaved,
Truths of Things I didn't know Until Now.
That Dancing With You Somehow lined up my toes,
No longer crooked but unbent perfection,
When I let you lead me in the right directions.
YOU ARE READING
Climbing Up Out Of The Ashes
PoetryA Poetry Collection About The Dark Side Of Falling In Love With The Wrong Person And Making Your Way Out Of The Fire...Breath by Breath...Exhaling The Smoke & Breathing In Fresh Air Again. #100poemsin100days challenge beginning August 21- November 2...
