My side of the Earth is wrapped in
cellophane,
Wherever I walk the ground
Scrunches,
Mornings feel like the first pages of
different books,
A foreign blink to a familiar eye.
Sometimes I feel no pressure
to unpack the stars,
Laying on my back in a room
with no wires,
Though sometimes I’d plug the moon,
and watch how it scares away
the ghosts,
Their silhouettes marching
on the walls,
Or maybe that’s me running from
my thoughts.
The ground feels like it’s squeezing
my toes,
Burying the soles of my feet
in the sand,
I hang the sea on the far horizon,
Just to have something to pull me
ahead.
In my two-bedroom cardboard reality,
My mistakes are never quiet,
Going through the tracts
I’ve burrowed in my existence,
I can’t find the hinges that hold my world together,
Or the patterns that could help me try.
Maybe it’s just me,
Afraid to get too comfortable,
With a present seemingly
not mine,
A sketch I started drawing,
But felt like I lacked the talent
to finish.
Wow!
You create such beautiful imagery, with your word’s.
I was immediately drawn in, & held captive till the end.
I loved this!
Excellent piece of writing, my friend.
I’m glad I caught this one.
Applause!
I started to quote some of your amazing lines, but there were many. I didn’t think it was practical to quote almost all of your poem back. Loved it!