i yawn to feed my thirsty eyes,
and i feel like a fraud
what is the point of writing when the action of picking up a pen wrings me dry
i loved your song.
my eyes told a story of a winding road to home, and yours told me to go
thieves came in the night and they stole all that was yours, and i bade them a good night.
i told you my town was twenty seven miles away as the crow flies,Â
it mattered in the moment,
and you laughed
at my insolence and at my expense
the prissy little devil at my shoulder
recites his prissy little poemsÂ
just the way my mother likes
i am a big girl now, and i have my big emotions
that i would like to shove in my piano
to feel passion worth my money
i gave my last gift to you
only so that i could not share it with you anymore.
Editor(s):Â Alisha B., Luna Y.
Photo Credits: Unsplash