Cold nights are like reminders,
bits of string tied around my fingers,
bows caught on the edges of my mind. Thoughts and feelings,
conversations and dreams- things I’d almost left behind.
These blankets and covers could never disguise
the feeling of longing that I’m ignoring inside.
I’ve shut my eyes tight, but your smile still shines
on the back of my eyelids. Don’t worry,
this doesn’t mean that you’ve gotten to me-
as long as I don’t want to face it,
then there’s nothing waiting to be seen.
This is and example of the ostrich's method of living.
It doesn't work.
I like writing poetry. Not all of it is going to be a historical epic or an ode to something. These are like little glimpses of the subway in my mind; my train of thought isn't always artsy or symbolic or deep or meaningful, but I like to think that art takes ordinary things and makes people see a sort of beauty in them. So, look around- I've been doing this for a while. Enjoy ♥
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