(Trying my hand at intentional enjambment)
These are my days
Opening my eyes to yours
Closed. Or to empty space when you’ve
Already gone
To class, on the bus
Heaving fatigue, checking my phone.
Filing through facts, sifting
Responses, hearing my bright voice
Answer, leaving
Sun glare wind on skin.
Extending my long arm
To the heavy library
Doors, and voicing “hello
How are you” to that man I don’t
Know But speak
With every single day
without fault
Then bluntly and skillfully clacking
Scrap-smudged borrowed keyboards.
Blogging, analyzing, socializing,
Jeapordizing my joy
On a beautiful day,
I sit alone and read
Poetry and leaves
Of grass on the green.
And I leave.
On a bus,
Home to you.
2 comments:
for some reason i absolutely love those last couple of lines :-)
thanks! it's still a little rough. i haven't written in a long time and i feel like i finally understand what i was doing wrong/unwell before.
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