I shook the generous hand off
Because i felt trapped by the fingers
Locked with mine
Now the space between them feels bare,
In the way that canyons are
The way that maybe the grasp of home carved
The divots between my knuckles
The way that water is felt in stone
The absence of the force that wore you down
The nourishment you miss
Back then–when life wasn't simpler, but smaller–
I took for granted the safety
I yearned for the bigness i have now
I am bound to it
Once a life expands you can never return to the comfortable
[little box]
Like growing out of a favourite jumper
Where the sleeves cuff your elbows
And you have to move on
A/N - ive published these so unchronologically . this was written maybe october/november, pre part 18 i think, anyway, hope youre all doing well:)
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The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known
PoetryI write poetry and use writing prompts and start stories, chances are they'll be one of three things: simple, artsy, pretentious. All of them will be pretty bad. Bad art is better than no art, though, and more people need to let themselves make bad...
