Monday, April 13

Poem Eight...



I leave little pieces of myself lying around the place,
Worn through weekday weather
Like my favorite sandals,
Brown leather creased with the places I’ve seen.
Sure, I’m broken and bashed in
By change and time and struggle,
But I’m hopeful all the same,
With clear eyes of optimism.

Sometimes I think that the world is my bedroom floor,
Which I’ll litter with my useless nothings.
Three weeks laundry piled high in a corner,
Obligations and responsibilities tucked into the back
Pockets of my blue jeans
To eventually be forgotten and thrown into the wash.

There’s sticky notes filled with ambition
Collecting dust on the cork board
While discarded plots and story-lines cry helplessly for revision
As I write a new note, crumple it, and add it
To the pile of retired thought.

Other times I speak to the empty space,
The silent voices of a million people
Just to prove that I exist,
Just to add a moments chaos to the timeline of humanity.
Hello, I am here.
I am real.
I am infinite and fragile.

But mostly, these little pieces of myself,
These love letters to no one,
They’re really for the bigger pieces of you,
You who I love without knowing.

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