Heady florals and dew, brushing and floating across a warm knit sweater on the shoulders of the center of it all, you
A big snow overwhelmed the earth and for once I felt quiet
It was a blinding sort of quiet, one that you can't look directly at or parts of you will be gone; melting into nothing
If I had a microscope I would not use it to track these pathways, I would not question or inquire to how, I would not jot down the trails to follow later, only to use as memory aids in an ancient time
If I could just be, you would let me
You jot things down, collecting pieces of yourself everywhere you go, like little scraps of puzzles you've left out to finish with a lover over wine
You aren't ordered, but a busy stream of chaos and color and...quiet
I know that if I am not, you will be. You will be the persistent pulsing space of comfort, in the corner. The closet during a new homes' first thunderstorm
You are so much more than a representation of luck and goodness.
You are whole, and you allow me to be whatever form I am for the moment
You are the blanket, cozying corners of grasses and flora and whispering
In time
YOU ARE READING
A collection of small poems (Lo fi beats and rain in the background)
PoetryA unique collection of words, short poems, and sounds you could probably make with your mouth. Some of it is true, some of it is just a long metaphor for my fears and hopes. Either way, it's definitely coming from a place of growth.
