till I own itA Poem by wolfshrew
my best times occur during the washing period;
while I soak long till the dirt does leave me,
like it was never there to begin with.
listening to a French song, that I cannot decipher-
"On ne pense à rien, malgré ses blessures",
I swirl water below my body to a merciless siren's call.
I am the giant in her storm.
If a speck of dirt does lie beneath my feet,
I feel it's presence like a boulder.
I sit upon it just to cry and straddle till I own it.
© 2012 wolfshrew
Added on March 7, 2012
Last Updated on March 7, 2012
Abouti am a girl in my early twenties that alone probably tells you enough. more..