You could map the mishaps of recent weeks,
across my scarred face and neck.
Naively, a strong body and hold were
all i wanted to curl beneath.
The safe haven of man with whispered
words of calculated compassion,
sacrifices made to climb that fence
seemed so much smaller when
they were first offered.
The scars are drifting from the outside in,
hitting the chest, beating the heart
drifting back to life with each cigarette breath.
(Yes, I've been smoking lately.)
Missing someone
pales in comparison
to missing yourself.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
Why is it that we can't seem to find ourselves until we get lost?
So I got on your poetry blog voting bit, and I scaled up and down the names, trying to find you, and I saw Ruby, and I know two people who go by that name: my old roommate and my cousin's little daughter. Alas, I clicked it only to come to you, and with a smile at that.
Post a Comment