She keeps a gun under her blouse, promising herself that it won't be use for things other than to bring justice, she tucks it under her heart, her own shield.
But, what is to be done if the war is inside the heart, within the walls and under floorboards, infesting like rats of a decaying house, the gun does not do it's job if the hurt comes from within this vital organ the only way to make it stop hurting is to-
Stop.
Please take a breath, and step away from the closet, from the sink, the tub, go outside and sit on the porch, watch the grass sway and listen to the song of the wind. You don't need to be a poet to notice and fall in love with the scenery, just memorize it
The touch of spring and coming of summer, learn to sense the changing seasons because just as unpreventable, your feelings will change.
The gun you keep under your blouse does not intended to bring death or silence but it is meant to protect you in ways it can, death comes for everyone but you want to summon The Reaper far too early, it's too early Alexa.
It's too early to make amends with the worlds you have yet to discover,
take time to dive into someone so far deep you can't remember which way is up
tell your friends that you love them over and over again
visit the fortuneteller and realize that you cannot
stop until it is time, and you'll know...
it will be a day you won't regret, and the ones who cared about you the most will come to visit you just to send you off, in a parade of flowers and spring colors, they will recall only the the happy moments, the ones where you laughed and sang because you managed to live to see it all.
YOU ARE READING
Not Quite, Midnight | poems
Poetry~she sets out to write for herself but casts a line from her ship of lunatics in case there was someone adrift trying to read along.
