Words are the clothes thoughts wear. —Samuel Beckett
Goodness knows I am worn out
from ideas and thoughts
cleansed papers hung
clothesline heavy with fresh air
sheets of perfection pressed
I wonder how to let go?
I am not the same girl
yesterday was left hanging
I brought scissors today
trimmed his hair
shorter than shoulder length
as time weighs heavy.
Sorry is painted clear
with fog surrounding our faces
and fingernails dug in earth
you reach for my dress hem
frayed from rolling down hills
and I wonder what tomorrow brings?
Mother may I
echoes through branches
as birds escape our dreams.
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Lovely 🥰 x
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Sign of a good poem, you can’t just read it once, and even having read a few times, there’s still more to discover. Love it!
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😘❤️🎶
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Lovely❤❤
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😘❤️🎶
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