 |
This is not a poem. It's more of a rant, which I never do but I need someplace to put this.
I have a son. A glorious 13 week old bundle of chubby..
|
|
I'm not yelling this to him, not again, it's been
seven years
since I first ran my tongue over the way his lips curl and
that crook..
|
|
It's...
irrelevant
we're two stories, picture books rubbed
raw and torn pages, he's
ripped
up the middle, down the lines of hi..
|
|
He sat there, turning his fingers
around and studying the fingernails that
tip tapped
against the windows I had kept...
clo..
|
|
It's pathetic
how this resembles the drifting, half attempted smiles that appeared on the carpets
in the middle of 2005...
..
|
|
He's drenched in all the Tuesdays I walked away from, backwards, towards him, in every
hour
I shattered mirrors with the violenc..
|
|
It's the last time...
I'll shame myself, this skin will never drink again....
my lips will tumble, escaping from the ..
|
|
I've...
pushed the last month or so off my cheek, I've never seen October leave a mark
maybe it's mascara this time..
|
|
I'm going to forget her...
Blow her off my palm, dandelion seeds to the wind, she'll travel places I've never been, she'll
smile..
|
|
www.youtube.com/watch
Broken...
egg shells and fingernails, there's nothing I can do to make this beautiful, and did I mentio..
|
 first  prev 1
|
|
Profile
Writing
Friends
