Probably not as funny as I think I am
Insta @chloe_j_writes
You spend too many hours before my frame, Cataloguing imperfections by name, Strands of gray, which, through the years, have grown bold-
By Chloë J.3 years ago in Poets
“Fly me to the moon,” croons the singer, but who says I’ll have him? Or anyone? You’ll find no refuge here, amongst my barren craters.
I am a magpie, collecting trinkets from the people I encounter. clutched in my beak is a turn of phrase I found particularly shiny from an old college friend.
It was a dark and stormy night- No, wait, I don’t think that’s quite right, There was a red sky, in the morning, I think it could have been a warning.
Running, running, running with my feet too slow, Slowly dripping poison pours from giant hands. Hand me the gun, “aim for where the venom flows,”
Fatigue holds my hand. Insomnia kisses my forehead. Sleeplessness and her friends gently paint violet shadows under the dull and boarded up windows to my soul.
hills so green it hurts my eyes, rising on each side of me, twice my height, crowding the path, mounds of earth look like Viking gravesites or giant sleeping gnomes.
“Pink and chocolate, and can I get sprinkles?” I place my order at a plastic donut store, in miniature, such a good sport, dad says, playing with your little sister who responds;
I suggest you shut your mouth before you find it gaping. // Yet before you opened it I learned your heart was breaking.
I had the privilege of laying wreaths on veteran’s graves through Wreaths Across America. Many of the graves were the final resting places of unknown soldiers. Thank you to all who have served, with your time and with your lives.
denizens of earth bubblegum pink. as for me, melancholy blue.
Am I broken if my preferred feeling is sad? I just know it best.
