"what's wrong with her?"
they'd been out since ten
lying in the grass
stargazing
stretched across
an old wool blanket.
"i'm not sure," he replied,
and brushed his thumb
across his lower lip
in thought.
"i think that sometimes
she feels too much
and in response
picks up her needle
and thread and ambition."
"for what?"
he smiled. softly.
like he knew there was
something else.
"to sew the world back together.
who else could possibly do it?"
YOU ARE READING
little blue flowers
PoetryA collection of original poetry by Ella Petrichor. Highest Rank: #152 in Poetry (6/14/18) **COMPLETED** ::Excerpt:: "betrayal along the seams" A melancholic pallor lining her face She stood in the doorway Beating the shit out of that old rug As thou...
