People meet me,
And out of their mouths comes, curling,
Like black smoke, like the smell of filth,
"Sorry,"
They look at me and see a lack.
I cannot run, I cannot jump,
They cannot imagine living like me.
My life would not be enough for them.
I know what it is to fly, you know.
To feel the impact on hooves on earth,
To sit back, to take a deep breath,
And lift off.
I have lived so many lives,
Fictional, real, unimportant, great.
Kings and students, sorcerers and mothers.
All wrapped around me like a patchwork quilt a lifetime in the making.
I have so much that is precious.
The love of friends, family, pets.
A rock, a constant, always.
So much love that sometimes I am overwhelmed by the treasure of it.
How dare you say that I am not enough.
My brain, my spine, my legs.
My life.
So much more than enough.
YOU ARE READING
The Dump
PoetryA place for all the random stanzas that flow through my mind. My life in free verse. I try to write at least one poem a week, so they will be added as they're finished. In the meantime, PLEASE comment. Praise is nice, but constructive criticism help...
