I take the ashes from all of the times you have burned me with your words- and I scatter them around my body; the ashes always seem to fall into place so perfectly- almost resembling their own kind of poetry; after sitting with them for hours, I gently scoop them into a jar; It is not long until all of these jars are taking up space in the spare room down the hall; some nights when I cannot sleep I quietly creep into the spare room and pick up one of the jars- I carefully sit down and place it on the floor in front of me; I stare at it for hours trying to recreate the exact feelings of the moment those ashes were created from- and for a few seconds, I think I understand you more than I ever have before.
lotuskeypoetry 1 Minute
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Poetry blog focused on life and the challenges that come with it. Twitter: @lotuskeypoetry View all posts by lotuskeypoetry