top of page

ode to entropy



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, 

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 poems 

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): Alisha B., Luna Y.

Photo Credits: Unsplash

Comments


bottom of page