So, I wrote this poem and I thought I would share....
*Her eyes are blue,
but not as the sky.
They are the feeling you get
when you chew a mint and sip ice water;
a refreshing chill down your spine.
Her skin is porcelain, but absent of the smooth whiteness
if you touch her, she may break;
a china doll
blush on her cheeks, red on her lips
falling from the top shelf.
She lives in a coffee shop on South. It’s the only home she has ever known.
The man behind her in line compliments the weather.
She wants to tell him what she loves about silence, not if it’s been too cold or too hot.
She craves this deeper meaning where none exists.
So she agrees with him, “yes sir, it’s gorgeous.”
She will always agree with him. She doesn’t have an opinion on the mundane.
She doesn’t like small talk; never has.
It’s hard for her to understand
why people would ever speak
about such short things
when there is an endless array
of words to be pieced together
to tell the story
of a much more
important life.
She is a sense of openness.
Full of thought,
emotion and
unplanned adventures
that end in terribly bad decisions.
She is not permanent and
she knows it.
She says
“there’s no such thing as time”
and practices her piece.
She will never be on time,
because of her
crippling fear
of being late for the life
she has already forgotten.
She likes being out at night.
She lives for it.
The people, the sounds, the smells.
There is just something
so different about her
small little town at night.
Sometimes you’ll find her,
stopped
on the top floor of a parking garage
at 3 o’clock in the morning
staring into the dark sky.
This is her happy place.
She is an open field in the dark.
A two a.m. sort of sadness
that leaves you
feeling fresh come morning.
She is now.
and will always be the present.
There is nowhere
else she could live.
Thanks for the read!
*Please excuse the spacing
